


A Lasting Change

by featherpoet



Series: Changes [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Increasingly heavy angst, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Physical Abuse, Prequel to A:TLA, Queer Themes, Queer Youth, Slice of Life, Spoilers for "The Search" (A:TLA comic), This work is heavily invested in Zuko's inner world, Verbal Abuse, Work In Progress, Young Zuko, Zuko is a precious bean who must be protected, Zuko is a queer kid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21681337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherpoet/pseuds/featherpoet
Summary: Zuko is many things. He is a prince of the Fire Nation at the height of its power. He is a blossoming firebender and swordsman. He is destined for greatness. But he's also just another young boy, struggling to find his footing in a world that keeps demanding more from him, trying to navigate the dissonance between the person he is discovering and the one he is expected to become.Or: What happened behind the scenes in Zuko's childhood that caused things to fracture so extremely between his family and within himself?This story is canon compliant, ongoing, and very queer. Tags will be updated as chapters are added.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), Ursa & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Changes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562962
Comments: 26
Kudos: 110





	1. Discarded

**Author's Note:**

> All that you touch  
> You Change.
> 
> All that you Change  
> Changes you.
> 
> The only lasting truth  
> Is Change.
> 
> God  
> Is Change.
> 
> ~ Octavia Butler, "Parable of the Talents"

The banquet for Azula’s third birthday had been extravagant, of course. The palace was full of dignitaries who had begun to arrive days earlier from across the Fire Nation and its distant colonies in the Earth Kingdom, all as well dressed and self-important as the young princess herself. Excitement, intrigue, and gossip reverberated across the palace as dozens of nobles took full advantage of the week of festivities, but Zuko – brother of Azula and eldest son of Prince Ozai, second in line for the throne – was deeply, profoundly bored.

The prince’s mind was foggy with drowsiness and a hundred half-forgotten formal introductions. His richly embroidered clothes scratched at his neck and trapped in too much heat from the decorative lanterns that had been hung all around the hall. Luck, fortune, happiness. Many more characters that he could not yet read. Zuko’s eyes glanced across the illuminated prayers for Azula’s future while he tried to pay attention. After a long entreaty by some important general with a sharp beard – _What was his name again?_ – finally drew to a close, Zuko’s thin smile whisked from his face with a colossal exhalation. He blinked his eyes open a moment later and shook his head slightly, swishing a short tail of jet-black hair in the process. _You can’t sleep yet, Zuko,_ he chided himself. _Mother and Father will be so disappointed._

A soft hand on his shoulder roused him from his reverie. Zuko spun around nervously, wondering if he had closed his eyes again without realizing it. A bright smile and warm, golden eyes greeted him. _Mother!_ He began to relax in spite of himself, but stopped midway, suddenly uncertain if he would be scolded or embraced. There were just so many rules that he managed to forget, and he was so sleepy tonight…

“You’ve been as regal as a prince today, my dearest Zuko.” The boy’s heart swelled with relief, and he shone a wide, toothy grin at his mother. She scooped him up and he nuzzled comfortably into the crook of her neck, transformed back into a young, happy child. He closed his eyes with abandon this time, shielded by his mother’s elegant gown. She smelled lightly of sage and orange blossoms. It was the safest smell in the whole world.

“My love.” His mother tapped the tip of his nose lightly. Her tone was serious but her eyes were dancing. “I seem to have lost track of Azula. You would be doing me a great favor if you went to check up on her.”

Zuko straightened up and tilted back his chin in his best impression of Fire Lord Azulon. Grandfather had looked so strong and confident while he delivered his celebratory speech earlier in the afternoon. Remembering it, Zuko puffed up a little more and adjusted his stance. “I would be honored to do this task for you, Mother.” He brought his fist and palm together and bowed slightly, his lip curling with amusement. A quick kiss pressed against his forehead and Zuko giggled, breaking character to wrap his arms around her. “I’ll make sure she’s okay,” he said, drawing back to look at her golden eyes again.

Ursa smiled at her son, this precious boy who was lovelier than sunshine. “I knew I could count on you. I’ll come play with you in an hour or so, love. Does that sound nice?” Zuko nodded furiously and sprang to his feet. He looked around, gave one more formal bow while grinning furtively at his mother, and ran off as quickly as his stuffy clothes allowed.

\---

Zuko prowled the palace halls, invigorated by the fresh air and his unexpected freedom. No more speeches! He was practically floating with delight. He hummed idly while his gaze skittered around in search of Azula. Following a sudden hunch, Zuko turned a corner and went through a grand doorway towards the gardens.

The palace gardens were one of Zuko’s favorite places. They were sprawling and peaceful, separated harmoniously by covered paths and awnings. Some areas were often frequented by passerby, but Zuko had long since scouted out the quieter corners. He relished these open secrets and believed that no one knew the gardens as well as he did. There was a tree outside the window of the music room that was great for climbing, and a small pond on the south side had recently been taken up by a pair of turtle ducks. During the day, Zuko loved to watch their little feet paddling easily beneath the water. He squawked cheerfully at them and fed them scraps of bread that he stuffed into his sleeves and snuck out from his meals. Tonight, the gardens felt like an oasis in the middle of the noise and lights of the celebration across the palace.

As he walked deeper into the moonlit courtyard, a series of small lights flickered in the corner of his eye. They were red and faint, but strong enough to reflect off of the water of the turtle duck pond before fading away. Curious, Zuko changed course and approached the pond.

The turtle ducks were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Azula sat in the soft turf beside the pond. Her gown was muddy and wrinkled, and she was surrounded by several of the toys she had been given at the banquet. Not all of them, of course; there were far too many for the small child to carry by herself. Zuko noted a ball, a paper fan, and a beautiful doll resting around where Azula sat.

Azula hadn’t noticed Zuko. She began to laugh softly and picked up the fan. An elaborate image of a monkey hanging from a flowering branch was painted across the folded paper. Azula tore it easily in half, bubbling with laughter. Zuko blinked at the casual destruction of such a pretty thing, his mouth opening in a wordless “oh.” Then, Azula held the broken fan up with one hand, made a tiny fist with the other, and struck. A small spark of flame licked out at the fan, eating the paper up hungrily. Azula’s teeth glowed sharply in the red light.

Zuko inhaled quickly, his eyes widening. _No way,_ he thought wildly, _she can’t really be firebending. She’s only three! I haven’t even learned to do that yet…_ His mind reeled in complicated, unfamiliar patterns. He was amazed, but also powerfully wanted to be sitting in Azula’s place. Zuko held his head between his hands to try to steady his thoughts.

By the time he collected himself, the paper fan had flickered out and been tossed aside. Clutched in Azula’s hand now was the beautiful doll, limp and helpless in her court dress, suspended by her long hair. The doll spun slowly to face Zuko from across the small pond. Her face was calm and happy. Panic clawed at Zuko’s stomach as he imagined her catching on fire and falling to ash, her pale eyes staring sagely at him all the while until they, too, were twisted by the flames – _No!!_

Azula looked up in Zuko’s direction, distracted from her fiery game for a moment. Zuko’s throat felt raw, and he dimly realized he had yelled. He forced a wan smile onto his face and began to walk around the pond. It took all of his effort not to run. It was even harder than it had been to smile at that general.

“Happy birthday, Azula!” Zuko called out in a thin voice. He hoped it was calming, but couldn’t tell. “Mother is looking for you, she wanted me to make sure you were safe.” Azula’s flat eyes settled back from their surprise, and she watched him through an unreadable mask. “I’m gonna bring you back to your room now. It’s bedtime. Is that… okay?” Azula just stared, unmoving. Zuko chattered on, desperate for some response. “Did you like your party? Did you have fun?” The doll swayed slightly in a whisper of a breeze. “Do you like the doll that Mother gave you?”

Finally, Azula reacted, her eyes narrowing into an expression severe far beyond her three years. She huffed and threw the doll carelessly aside. Zuko felt his muscles clench as he resisted the urge to spring past his sister and catch it. Instead, it rolled through the mud and settled dangerously close to the pond’s now-dark water. Zuko took a few cautious steps towards Azula and then picked the girl up in a quick gesture, leaning back slightly to perch her against his chest. He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled a little more easily at her.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up for bed, yeah? Your dress is all dirty. Silly Azula!” He tickled her stomach and she wriggled as far away as she could manage.

“Zuzu, nooo!” Azula protested, giggling and slapping at his hand. Zuko adjusted his grip and started walking back towards the palace gates. Azula punched little sparks behind him while he walked, making a whooshing sound and a single, high, bell-toll laugh with every tiny blow.

\---

Zuko pulled the door to Azula’s chamber shut behind him. He had passed his sister off to her handmaidens, who skillfully amused her and took her to bathe off the mud in her hair. The prince sighed heavily, suddenly remembering how exhausted he was. For a moment, he forgot everything. He considered walking down the hall to his own room and collapsing on his bed, and even took a step towards his door. But then, an image of Azula’s doll lying forgotten in the mud flashed up in his mind, and he was alert again. His feet were moving before he had a chance to tell them to, carrying him with a strange determination back towards the garden.

If he had been more awake, he might have wondered why he found the doll so mesmerizing that it seemed more important than sleep. If he had been a little older, he might have reacted altogether differently to himself. But he was neither of those, so he simply walked, his young mind clear of worry or doubt.

And then he was back at the pond, the doll already in his hand. He blinked. The doll was dirty and disheveled. The hem of her gown had fallen into the pond and begun to soak up the water, leaving the fabric damp and dark. Her hair was half pulled out of its elegant styling from when Azula had grabbed it, leaving several long strands loose and clumped together with mud. Zuko unconsciously smoothed it down while his eyes drifted over to her face. A knot of tension released from his shoulders when he saw that her fine face paint had not been ruined by the water. Her glimmering eyes seemed to be thanking him for rescuing her. In spite of their silvery sheen, they reminded Zuko of his mother. He held the doll tightly against his chest and bowed his head. _I’m so glad you’re okay._ Zuko felt a fire in his heart, and his eyes began to sting. He shook his head to clear it, then sat on the stone bench below the willow tree and started his ministrations of the doll’s hair.

The last of her long hair had just been freed of its clips and ornaments when Zuko heard a voice calling out to him. “Zuko! Zuko, are you out here?” Ursa wasn’t shouting, but her voice carried easily across the courtyard.

Smiling at his mother’s distant silhouette, Zuko gave a low quack to draw her attention. He held his breath to stifle a laugh, but it sputtered traitorously from his lips. Ursa’s voice was full of laughter as she glided down the steps. “Where’s my little turtle duck hiding? I wonder…”

Zuko inched to the side of the stone bench to make room for his mother. The moon was high overhead now, casting silver ripples across the pond and along Ursa’s dark hair as she approached. Zuko ran his fingers once more through the doll’s hair. “You found me!” he exclaimed.

“I did!” Ursa had nearly rounded the pond when she seemed to hesitate, her face cloaked in the shadow of a low branch. “Did you… find something, too?” There was something odd about her voice, and when she stepped out from the shadow, her eyebrows were drawn slightly closer. Zuko recognized the look as one he often spotted his mother making while she watched Azula. He had never understood what it meant, but it was still a bit disturbing to feel it pointed at him.

Eager to set his mother – and himself – at ease, Zuko made a wide gesture with his doll and took a breath. “Azula was being mean to her and she was going to set her on fire but I stopped her and put her to bed and now I’m fixing her hair because Azula threw her in the mud and she got a little dirty but isn’t she pretty, Mother?”

Ursa settled onto the bench and draped an arm around Zuko, turning to look at the doll in his hands. “She’s lovely, my dear.” There was still a slight strain in Ursa’s voice, so Zuko pressed on.

“Why didn’t Azula want her, Mother? She’s so pretty but Azula just wanted to ruin her. Why, Mother? I would love her forever but nobody ever gives me dolls. Only Azula, but she hates them.” Zuko stopped to take a quick breath, then turned eagerly to face his mother. “Oh, can I keep her, Mother? Azula didn’t want her, really! I promise I’ll take care of her! Can I, Mother, please?”

A profound stillness settled over the woman for a short, frightening moment. Zuko pressed his lips together, feeling suddenly disoriented. _What if she says no?_ He clutched the doll nervously. _What then?_

But then Ursa smiled, and the tension evaporated in a heartbeat. “Of course you can, Zuko,” she cooed. “If it really means that much to you.” He rushed into her embrace, laughing and crying against her chest, the doll held firmly in his arms. Ursa stroked the boy’s hair and hushed gently at him. Zuko listened to the smile in her voice and tried to focus on it. He was confused and crying and he didn’t understand why, until a single word floated to the surface of his mind.

“I’m happy, Mother.”

The grip around his shoulders tightened for a moment, and Zuko heard his mother stifle a small sob. Before he could pull away or start to worry, she kissed him and laughed once, softly. “I’m happy, too, Zuko.”

\---

Ursa walked carefully through the halls of the sleeping palace, leading Zuko by the hand. He held his precious doll in the crook of his arm and trotted behind his mother. As they passed by two large crimson vases, Zuko recognized the wing they were entering. He had never been allowed in this part of the palace before. He tried to rub the tiredness from his eyes, but exhaustion continued to eat away at his perception.

So, he didn’t know exactly how they ended up in his mother’s chambers. He recognized them right away by the smell – sage and orange blossom. Zuko inhaled deeply. The scent was so powerful here. He wanted to wrap it around himself and fall asleep on the soft carpets.

Zuko squinted around the room in search of his mother, his eyes falling in and out of focus in a daze. He spotted a large wooden wardrobe, a framed portrait of a beautiful young woman with two older people standing over her shoulders in plain clothes, a bed with dark velvet curtains tied back against its four tall posts, a large painting of his mother and father on their wedding day, a tapestry of the fire nation crest on a faraway wall. The whole room seemed to glow softly, as if an aura surrounded every object. Zuko’s eyelids felt so heavy…

“…and there we go,” Ursa said distantly. “Oh, you must be so tired! I’ll bring you to bed soon, my love.” Zuko lost track of the carpet beneath him and found himself sitting on a cushioned armchair. His eyes fluttered open to reveal Ursa kneeling before him, smiling. She brushed his cheek and Zuko leaned happily into her palm. “But first, I must talk with you a moment.” Her eyes grew serious around the frame of her smile. Zuko blinked, and nodded a moment later.

Ursa slipped the doll gently from Zuko’s loose grip and held it between them. Her fingers traced the dirty clothes and tangled hair thoughtfully. “Does she have a name, my turtle duck?” Zuko frowned, struggling to think through the fog of sage.

“Um, yeah.” His words felt like molasses on his tongue. “It’s Kiyi.”

“What a lovely name,” his mother complimented smoothly, ruffling his hair. She looked directly into his eyes. “Zuko, my love, let’s always play with Kiyi together. I want to teach you how to take care of her. It’s just that I don’t want Azula to feel jealous. You understand, don’t you, dear?”

Zuko nodded slowly, but seriously. “Azula might get mad.” He remembered the sparks that flew from her fists earlier that night. “We should be careful so she doesn’t see us.”

“Exactly.” Ursa smiled comfortingly at her son. “But if we play on this night every week, then we can meet here in secret and nobod– _Azula_ won’t ever know. We shouldn’t hurt her feelings.”

Ursa held out Kiyi towards her son, who took her instinctively. “Love, I think Kiyi should live in my rooms during the week. Be a dear and say goodnight to her so she can rest while you’re away?”

A dull sliver of sadness sliced through Zuko’s sleepiness, but he nodded and hugged Kiyi tightly. “Goodnight, Kiyi,” he whispered. “Sleep well. See you in a week.” He kissed her on her cool forehead, his expression somber, and handed her back to his mother.

Ursa stood and walked towards her wardrobe, holding Kiyi between her long fingers. Zuko felt a strong yawn overtake him and curled further into the armchair. By the time his mother returned, he was well and truly asleep.


	2. Painted

Zuko swallowed nervously, his confidence wavering beneath the twin stares of the old women on the dais. He knelt ceremonially beside his sister, whose wide grin was visible even out of the corner of his eye. The stone floor of the training yard thrummed with heat as the midday sun blazed overhead.

This was the day that Zuko and Azula were to be presented publicly as firebenders, and Zuko felt completely unprepared.

It’s not that he hadn’t been _trying_ to prepare. He trained for long hours everyday, same as Azula; she simply excelled, whereas his progress had been slow and inconsistent.

“Attention!” An official standing off to Zuko’s right side held up his hands. The small crowd of onlookers grew still and silent. “On this first Fire Day of the Third Month of the Year of the Ox, it is my honor to welcome Lo and Li, esteemed advisors of the Fire Nation, to the Imperial Palace.”

Polite applause circled the courtyard, and the elderly women bowed their heads simultaneously. _They’re like looking at a mirror,_ Zuko thought. _How… unsettling._

“Today, we will also have a demonstration of the fifth fire kata by Prince Zuko and Princess Azula.” More applause. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Zuko’s neck. _At least Father won’t be watching us today. He’ll be busy at his war meeting until late in the night._

Zuko didn’t know for sure, but he had begun to suspect that the truth of his dreadful progress was being hidden from Prince Ozai. After today’s very public appearance, he wasn’t sure how much longer that would last.

“Without further delay, it is my honor to present for the first time as a firebender, Prince Zuko!”

The applause was barely audible over the ringing in Zuko’s ears. His body seemed to move without him saying so – he bowed, stood, and stepped forward an appropriate amount before settling into his stance. His mind raced to catch up.

 _Breathe… step to the left, and punch. Sweep the leg. Step back, two punches. Turn around, sweeping the le– whoa!_ Zuko staggered, nearly losing his balance. _Damn! Don’t over-adjust! Step back, two punches. Turn to the left, block and strike…_

As Zuko settled into a rhythm, a stray piece of his mind broke away from his control. _You aren’t making enough fire. They’re going to be disappointed. Azula is about to upstage you. You’ll be forgotten. What kind of palm-heel strike was that? You’re not worthy of being a prince of the Fire Nation. You failed, Zuko._

“Graaaagh!”

Zuko’s final kick produced a bright, fiery blast, leaving a streak of light across his vision as he settled into his closing stance. He brought his fist and palm together and bowed at the waist towards the dais. If there was applause, he didn’t hear it. _Three steps back, turn, and walk._ Azula wasn’t looking at him, but her eyebrows were raised in a silent laugh. Zuko felt a pang of… something, then knelt down a few paces away from her and straightened his back.

“—Princess Azula!”

Azula stood like a cat. Every motion she made was perfect. Her bow was submissive and strong, and her shoulders were as loose as silk cords. She began her kata with a plume of flame and leapt into her form with ferocity. _She’s so fast… When did she get this fast?_ Zuko watched helplessly for a moment, then closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. But he couldn’t avoid her. Lights danced across his eyelids with every strike, waves of heat washed over him, and the rapid sounds of crackling fire filled his ears.

He heard the applause this time. Lots of it. His eyes opened just in time to catch Azula grinning at him as she spun around. Her eyes were hard and gleeful. _She knows she’s better than me…_ Zuko turned to the crowd for the first time, desperate for a friendly face to settle the storm brewing in his mind. Many people stared past him, clearly looking at and chattering about Azula. A tall, dark-skinned man stood half concealed behind a pillar, eyes narrowed over a close-cropped beard. Zuko blinked, but his gaze was drawn to a high window; Zuko felt a warmth surge through his limbs and he smiled without realizing it. His beloved mother stood in the window holding a small figure – _Kiyi!!_ The doll was dancing and clapping and waving.

The storm was banished, and Zuko’s smile lingered long after the figures in the window had drifted away.

\---

“You should be more careful with your heels, Zuzu.” Azula’s voice was high and bright, like sharp glass. “Your performance would have been captivating… if you hadn’t misstepped.”

Zuko’s frown settled deeper into his forehead. He matched steps with his sister, their shoes clattering against the lacquered floors. They were heading to the indoor training hall for a debriefing by their firebending teacher. Zuko was preparing for a scolding, so at that moment, Azula’s commentary was very unwelcome.

“Thanks,” he said dryly. _Leave me alone,_ he willed.

“It’s a shame that Father couldn’t come today, really.” Zuko’s fists clenched at his sides. _Shut up, Azula._ “He would have been proud of us. Well, one of us,” she added, casually adjusting the folds in her red and black training top. “You were really only there as a formality, of course. Everyone knew that the whole point of this event was for me to get better teachers, but they couldn’t quite find an excuse to leave you out.”

“You’re lying,” Zuko spat. “You always lie, Azula.” He tried to speak with more confidence than he felt. His stomach was full of fireflies and his head was starting to spin.

“Think whatever you like, Zuzu,” she said, her voice studiously cool and light. “It’s too bad that you embarrassed yourself for nothing!” Azula skipped a step and twisted to face her brother while she walked. “Zuzu, how about I give you some extra lessons? Then maybe you’ll finally catc–”

“No thanks.” _I am_ so _not in the mood for this right now._ “And don’t call me that!”

“Whatever you say, Zuzu~”

Their arrival at an ornate doorway spared Zuko the need to respond. Azula pushed the doors open, shoulders set broadly. So confident. Zuko stepped through with noticeably less vigor and eased the doors closed behind him. They removed their shoes and tucked them into the familiar row of boxes.

“Welcome, my pupils!” A long-faced man with a grey braid and a thin mustache stood on the opposite side of the room, arms clasped behind his back. He was smiling, but only with his mouth.

“Master Kunyo,” Azula and Zuko said together, bowing towards the man. Zuko peered out at Azula from the corner of his eye, noting that she had angled her torso slightly higher than he had. Zuko blinked, taken aback by her boldness… but then realized that he wasn’t as surprised as he first thought. Nobody in the Fire Nation was bolder than Azula.

“I am happy to greet you both today,” Master Kunyo stated directly, returning their bow a moment later. “I bring good tidings, for both of you.”

Zuko felt Azula stiffen at his side. _For both of us?! But, but I made a fool out of myself, everybody saw… Azula said…_ Zuko let his anxious thoughts chase themselves in circles, focusing his gaze on his firebending teacher.

“Azula!” She stepped forward and squared her stance. “Your kata was very well-executed today. You have mastered the turning roundhouse kick that we worked on last week. Your fire burned brightly. I am most pleased.” The high set of her jaw seemed to suggest that she expected this incredibly high praise, but her eyes betrayed her hunger for it. Zuko rolled his eyes.

“For you, I have two announcements: First, we shall proceed to the first advanced fire kata. We will begin your training in two days.” _Wow. Even Father was ten before he reached the advanced kata._ Zuko’s mind reeled, and Azula was noticeably proud this time.

“Second, the esteemed Lo and Li will be joining your personal retinue. Starting tomorrow, they will serve as advisors and teachers while you continue your studies of firebending and the other courtly arts appropriate for a princess of your stature.” Master Kunyo’s voice grew serious. “This is a great honor, Azula, and you should not be late for your formal introduction tomorrow morning.”

Azula bowed easily – _too easily._ “Thank you, Master Kunyo. I won’t be late.” He nodded, content with her reply, and she stepped back.

“And Zuko!” Kunyo’s voice boomed. Zuko bowed again, then studied his master’s face, searching for the telltale clues of his displeasure; extra lines across his forehead, narrowed eyes, thinly stretched lips. Strangely enough, he didn’t seem to be upset. “You were most fascinating today, Zuko.”

The boy slightly tilted his head. “I was?” he asked automatically.

“Indeed!” Kunyo smiled, and this time it reached his eyes, crinkling them fondly. “You made some mistakes, yes, and we shall work on them,” he waved a hand dismissively, “but you also made progress. Finally! And we can use that to advance you even further!”

Zuko was thoroughly confused, but kept his mouth shut.

“We shall speak more on this later. Now, I must share some news with you, too.” The master’s eyes glinted mischievously. Zuko was so confused that he couldn’t have spoken even if he had wanted to. “You attracted some unexpected attention today. An esteemed swords master from Shu Jing sought me out after your demonstration and requested to take you on as his student. He is known for being quite reclusive, so this is a rare opportunity. If you agree, Master Piandao will return to the palace in three days to begin your instruction in the art of the dual broadsword.”

Tendrils of tension and irritation radiated towards Zuko’s back. He swallowed nervously. Azula always got what she wanted, and if she had wanted all the attention today… Well, she wouldn’t be happy about this.

“Um, Master Kunyo?” Zuko’s voice was small and thin. Kunyo nodded once. “Who is Master Piandao?”

“Honestly, do you _ever_ pay attention in class?” Azula exclaimed impatiently from behind him.

“Hush, Azula,” Master Kunyo rebuked. “Master Piandao is a legendary swordsman. He defeated every enemy he faced while he served in the Fire Nation Army.”

“He isn’t even a firebender!” Azula interjected, ignoring Kunyo’s command and stepping forward defiantly. “And he _deserted_ the army. He’s a traitor.”

“His skill is unmatched,” Kunyo asserted coolly. “He singlehandedly overthrew the hundred soldiers who went to collect him for his desertion. You might say that the army… _adapted_ their position accordingly.” He chuckled once. “Besides, better to keep him in _our_ employ than have him halfway across the world training dirt people and snow savages.”

“Well _I_ will have nothing to do with traitors,” Azula huffed, arms crossed. Her eyes were angry. _Is she angry with me or with Piandao?_ Zuko wondered.

“That’s fortunate, as Master Piandao did not seek your tutelage.” Kunyo’s voice had hardened with irritation. “Speak out of turn again, princess, and I shall be forced to defer your training of the advanced fire kata until such time as you have proven yourself their match in maturity and grace.”

To Zuko’s surprise, Azula backed down. She fell into a bow – a deep one this time – and her face was suddenly calm and controlled. Like a sculpture. No, like a perfect mask. “My apologies, Master Kunyo. It won’t happen again.” Her voice was all honey and velvet. It sent a chill down Zuko’s spine.

“You are dismissed, Azula. Please seek out your tutors and spend the afternoon with your studies.”

“Yes, Master Kunyo.” Azula was perfectly obsequious as she departed the hall. When the door clicked shut, Zuko realized he had been holding his breath. He let it out in a rush and looked up at his teacher.

Kunyo crossed the room in a few large strides and clapped Zuko on the shoulder. “That was some fire you made today, my boy.” His eyes were alight, eyebrows high on his creased forehead. “At the end of your kata,” he supplied helpfully.

“Oh,” Zuko said. “Yeah, I guess it was more than usual…”

“It’s the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for!” Kunyo hadn’t looked this excited about anything relating to Zuko in months. “So, tell me everything. What were you thinking? What did you feel?” He made a fist with his free hand and pressed it over his chest expressively.

“Uh, well…” Zuko tried to think back through a sea of anxious thoughts, wondering which ones he was meant to draw out. “Well, I was nervous…”

“Yes, you often are,” Kunyo pushed. “Try to think of what was _different_ this time.”

Zuko winced at the blunt comment. “Umm, well, I felt kind of like I was losing control,” he said quietly. Kunyo stared at him. “I was scared of doing badly. I thought I already failed.” Zuko felt weirdly distant while he spoke. “But it wasn’t all of my mind, somehow, and I got really angry with myself for being so distracted. And then it was just over.”

Kunyo was grinning excitedly. “That’s it! Anger! That’s where your strength comes from!” He released his grip from Zuko’s shoulder and began to pace back and forth across the room. “If you can harness this feeling and draw it out while you firebend, we have a chance…” He muttered to himself ponderously while he paced.

“But Master Kunyo,” Zuko protested. “I’m not always angry.” It seemed like such an obvious oversight to him. He couldn’t just be angry all the time!

“Ah. Of course.” Kunyo halted in his tracks, rolling the corner of his mustache between his fingers. “I shall think more on this. You are dismissed! Go off and think about anger, my boy. You did well today.” He resumed his pacing, and Zuko obediently showed himself out.

\---

Zuko sat beneath a purple sky, watching the two turtle ducks swim around the pond. They drew erratic patterns across the water. The prince twisted a piece of grass between his fingers, but his eyes were far away. Ursa was nearly within reach before he noticed her approaching.

“Hello, Mother,” he said, his gaze snapping back into focus.

“Hello, my turtle duck.” Ursa held out her hand, and Zuko leapt up to take it.

They both started towards the palace with all the comfort and familiarity of an old habit. And old habit it was; every Fire Day, Zuko awoke early and set to his tasks with extra vigor, knowing that his day would conclude with his dear mother seeking him out at the pond and leading him back to her chambers. Back to Kiyi. A small, comfortable smile crept onto Zuko’s face.

“Your form was lovely today,” Ursa complimented. Zuko squeezed her hand gratefully, and she tapped him on the nose with her free hand. “I could see you were nervous, dear, but it’s only because I know you so well. You never gave up, that’s what really matters.” Zuko was truly beaming now, all the tension gone from his forehead. “How was your meeting with Master Kunyo this afternoon?”

“Okay, I think.” A memory came to the surface of his mind, an image like a scroll painting of a lone man standing against a hundred Fire Nation Army soldiers. “Master Piandao wants to teach me how to use swords.”

“Does he, now?” Ursa sounded surprised. “That’s very interesting.”

Zuko couldn’t figure out what she meant. He heard Azula’s voice in his head. “Is it true that he’s a traitor, Mother?”

“I think it depends on how you look at it, sweet.” They had entered the large hall with the crimson vases. Ursa paused, then continued carefully. “Some people think it’s bad for a person to choose their own path. They thought that Piandao’s destiny was to fight on the battlefield. But he had different ideas about the life he wanted to live. He’s helped many people since he made that choice.”

“But he isn’t even a firebender!” Zuko blurted out automatically, visions of Azula’s angry face bright in his mind.

“Neither am I,” Ursa said simply, stopping before her door.

Zuko felt like he’d been plunged suddenly underwater. _Mother… isn’t a firebender?_ He took a stroke towards the surface. _I suppose I’ve never seen her use firebending before._ Another stroke. _And she didn’t seem to know the fire kata very well when I started studying them last year._ He reached out, desperate to steady himself.

“Do you think less of me for that, love?” Ursa had turned to face him, her eyebrows drawn up in sorrowful worry. Just like that, Zuko was out of the water and his vision was clear.

“No, Mother. Of course not.” He buried himself in her arms, feeling her clasp around his back and cradle his head with her hands. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, my Zuko,” she whispered. A quick squeeze and she was drawing back, glancing around the hallway before looking back at his watery eyes. “Shall we go inside?” Zuko nodded. When Ursa turned to the door, he wiped his eyes brusquely.

A few minutes later, Zuko was ensconced in orange blossom and a thick blanket on his favorite floor cushion. He relaxed his eyes while his mother bustled about the room, fiddling with various things. Zuko was too comfortable to be curious. Soon, jasmine blended into the alloy of scents, and a light clink of ceramic signaled that she was making tea. Over the years, Zuko had come to love jasmine tea. It was Ursa’s favorite, and her delighted expression the first time Zuko had asked for seconds was worth every swallow of the bitter stuff he had had to suffer before his palate adjusted.

“Almost done, love,” Ursa announced. “Are you and Kiyi ready for tea?”

The doll peeked out of the blanket under Zuko’s chin. He nodded, stretching gradually out of his cocoon. Ursa carried a tray from across the room and set it on a low table beside her son. There were two rather ordinary teacups, a matching teapot, and a much smaller clay cup. Zuko moved Kiyi to a doll-sized cushion sitting atop the table and pushed the small cup closer to her. He took one of the larger teacups as his mother knelt at the table.

“Thanks, Mother.” Zuko raised the cup hastily to his lips and began blowing at the steam, eager for it to cool. Ursa chuckled at him, humming sweetly while she swirled her teacup. After managing a small sip, Zuko smiled. “It’s really nice! It always comes out so bitter when I make it.”

“I’ll show you again next week. After a bit of practice, you’ll improve.” It was a familiar phrase, a sweet nothing; Ursa had tried many times to impart this knowledge, and Zuko wondered if she really believed what she said anymore.

He turned to Kiyi, lifting the tiny cup into her delicate hands. “You must be thirsty, too, Kiyi!” He guided it to her lips and tilted it back. “There you are. It’s good, right?”

Zuko placed the cup down, but his eye was drawn to a red flake that had caught on a jagged piece of the clay. After examining it, his eyes flicked back to Kiyi, then widened in alarm.

“Oh…!” The world seemed to spin. Zuko’s mouth gaped open wordlessly. He looked urgently at his mother, desperation written plainly across his face.

“Don’t worry, Zuko!” Ursa said as soothingly as she could, reaching over the teapot to pick up the doll. “It’s only paint; we can fix it!”

Kiyi’s once delicately painted lip had broken in half and simply come off. It made her expression unusually quirky. Zuko’s own lip trembled while his eyes darted between his mother and the doll in her hands.

“We can fix it?” he asked slowly, taking time to process each word. “How?”

Ursa smiled. It was a special smile that she only ever made for him. Every time he saw it, Zuko couldn’t help but feel warmer than he had the moment before.

“Want to see? I can show you exactly how.”

\---

Zuko was intense. Focused. More focused than he had ever been. All of his concentration honed onto the few hairs at the end of a brush. He could see every eyelash crisscrossing along Ursa’s closed eye. A little closer… there! Oh, but the black line was thicker than he expected, growing wider as he applied pressure. He backed off, too quickly, and drew the brush towards the outer corner of her eye. Too light; some areas didn’t get enough paint. Too far away from the lashes, too. Zuko lifted the brush with a careful flick, leaving a gentle taper at the end of the stroke. That was good, at least.

Ursa carefully opened her eye, a golden pupil displacing the paint in Zuko’s pinpoint stare. He blinked in surprise, then started to laugh. Quietly at first, just a low series of chuckles deep in his belly. Ursa turned her head to glance at the mirror on the desk beside her, and her lips curled up in amusement. Zuko’s laugh grew louder and fuller until it bordered upon uproarious. Ursa couldn’t help but join him.

In short, it looked dreadful. Nothing at all like the example she’d drawn for him on her other eye. The thickest part of the paint arched steeply above the center of her eye, leaving her with an oblong sort of gaze. Something a comedic performer might wear at the circus. Seeing such a thing on his elegant mother’s face was the most strikingly incongruous thing the young boy had ever seen. He wiped the tears from his eyes, shoulders still shaking with waves of laughter.

“Well, my love, it’s a good first try!” Ursa pinched his cheek gently, and he shouldered away with a giggle.

“I think I might need more practice.” Zuko felt the laughter rising in his throat again, his abdomen tight and spastic. Why was everything the funniest thing he’d ever heard?

“Maybe I should fix Kiyi’s makeup this time, and you can try it next time.” Ursa smiled slyly, then added, “After you practice… a _lot_.”

“Hey!” Zuko protested, grinning. “It won’t take long! You’ll see!”

“I’m sure I will, darling.”

Zuko settled onto his mother’s lap while she rearranged the paints, bright red and deep black. He stretched to grab Kiyi, then turned his critical gaze onto her flaking paint. The biggest problem was the gap in her lips, but Zuko could now spot signs of wear around her pale eyes, too. He didn’t feel distressed anymore; this was simply a problem to solve, as his mother had said.

“How are you feeling, Kiyi?” Zuko cooed, unconsciously mimicking Ursa’s calming tone. “You’re looking tired. Why don’t we ask Mother to fix your lips and eyes? That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Kiyi nodded, or maybe bowed, and Zuko passed her over to Ursa. She wrapped her arms around him to hold the doll.

“Since you asked so nicely, Kiyi,” Ursa said magnanimously, “I’d be happy to help.”

Zuko watched with open fascination as Ursa carefully dipped her brush into the red paint and brought its fine tip to Kiyi’s lips. He studied the rhythm of her strokes, seeing the slow draws and quick arches translated into a delicate upper lip. The paint was glossy and wet, as if Kiyi had just bitten into a watermelon.

The eyes came next. An exchange of brushes, then Kiyi’s left eye was carefully traced. A thin semi-circle around the pale iris, then the stroke thickened and flicked carefully out, defining the corner. Ursa rotated the doll in her hand to repeat the process on her right eye. It was a perfect inversion. Ursa laid down her brush.

“What about the center of her eyes, Mother?” Zuko asked, although he couldn’t see any paint flaking off of those small orbs.

“They’ll be fine,” Ursa replied. “They’re made of a very fine silver, so they don’t need any paint.”

“Oh.” They _were_ rather shimmery. Zuko had never guessed that they were real metal, but they looked as bright as the fresh paint that encircled them.

Ursa sat Kiyi down atop the small desk that held her face paints and brushes, resting her against the mirror. “Let’s leave her here to dry. I’m sure she’ll be ready to play again by next week.”

Zuko nodded, admiring the fresh paint. The half of Ursa’s face that she’d drawn on herself was reflected in the mirror above Kiyi. Zuko’s own face looked pale and plain in comparison. An idea struck him. “Mother, would you paint my face, too?”

A shadow seemed to cover Ursa’s face in the mirror for the briefest of moments, but it was gone before Zuko could study it further. “Of course, my turtle duck.” Her voice was smooth and unassuming. She lifted him up from her lap and guided him back onto the second cushioned stool. Zuko felt the excitement growing within him as he spun around to face her.

Ursa tapped Zuko playfully on the tip of his nose. “Now, Zuko, first you have to understand.” She gestured at the desk. “Kiyi is a doll, so she can wear her face paints all the time. It’s different for people.” A faint smirk lit across Ursa’s face, and she touched two fingertips against her cheek. “As much as I would love to wear your art forever, love, I’m afraid I must wash it off before bed.”

Zuko laughed brightly, then nodded. “So I can only wear it until I go to bed?” he asked.

“Exactly.” Ursa smiled. “As long as you understand that.” He nodded again, eagerly. “Well then, let’s begin. Close your eyes, my dear.”

Zuko closed them. He heard some rustling from over on the table, and the sounds of hard things clicking together. His imagination raced. Suddenly, something brushed quickly across his cheek several times. He inhaled in surprise, then coughed.

“Just setting powder, love,” Ursa laughed.

Zuko rubbed his nose and smiled, keeping his eyes closed. The thick powder brush travelled all over his face – across his forehead, circling his chin, over the bridge of his nose. It tickled! He tried not to laugh, but failed.

“I’ll do your eyes next, so be sure to hold still.”

Ursa’s hand rested lightly on Zuko’s left cheek. The touch made the hairs on his forearms prickle. Then, he felt the brush make contact with his eyelid. The paint was heavy and wet, like spreading ink as the brush slowly traced across his eye. Zuko felt the lifting of the brush in his curled toes. A clink of the brush against something hollow on the desk. The heel of her hand settled more forward on his right cheek, and the wet brush licked the inner curve of his right eye. It dragged exquisitely across his skin, causing a line of tiny sparks to ripple around his scalp. He felt tension he hadn’t even been aware of slipping off his shoulders.

“Let them dry a moment while I do your lips.”

More clinking sounds. A soft palm pushed Zuko’s chin back, then drew his jaw fractionally down, parting his lips. A few fingertips rested against various points on the right side of his face. A brush settled at the corner of his mouth. He felt and was surprised to recognize the familiar gestures from earlier, when his mother had painted on Kiyi’s lips. Slow and fast, arching in and out, out and in. A small breath while the brush darted over to the paint on the desk and back. Anticipation, then a long, slow sweep along his lower lip. Ursa’s fingertips lifted off of Zuko’s skin. He sat as if suspended, lips still ajar, eyes still shut.

“All finished.” Her voice was soft and gentle. “You can open them, carefully.”

Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open. They felt so heavy, and he was so strangely aware of the way his skin pulled when they opened and closed. He managed to lift them up, and found himself looking right at his mother. She looked so aloof with her lopsided eyes. He started to smile, then noticed the small motion reflected at his side. Overcome with a sudden hunger to see, Zuko looked directly into the mirror.

The smile fell halfway off. Zuko stared, his expression frozen, unreadable. A thousand thoughts and feelings lit the surface of his mind, thoroughly dazzling him. He forgot how to breathe for a long moment. The periphery of his vision ceased to exist, blurring into a nondescript grey.

 _Is that… really me?_ The thought struggled to form in his cluttered mind. He noticed that his eyes felt dry, so he made them blink. The strain in his lungs started to register, so he let out his breath and drew in a fresh one. As for the inexplicable ache in his chest… Zuko didn’t have the slightest idea what to do about that.

He reached out to take his mother’s hand, and squeezed it, still staring into the mirror. She squeezed back, but didn’t speak. _I’m…_

“Pretty,” Zuko whispered, using all of his breath. “I’m pretty.”

And then he smiled.


	3. Stolen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: verbal and physical abuse

It was a strange day from the start.

Zuko had awoken early, as was his habit on Fire Days, and had ordered his servants to draw water for a bath. After he was dried and dressed in practical clothes for a morning of studying with his tutors, a memo from one of the palace overseers arrived. The day’s schedule was to be altered, cutting his studies and advancing his firebending training into the morning, in order to make time for a new event in the late afternoon. Zuko’s eyes narrowed and he lifted the paper closer to read it again. He looked up at the servant who had delivered the note.

“ _‘Family dinner’_?” Zuko read incredulously.

“Yes, sir.” The man stood with his head bowed, holding the letter tray tightly to his chest.

Zuko gestured impatiently. “ _‘Family dinner with Prince Ozai’_?!”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about Father’s war meeting?”

“Cancelled, sir.”

“Why?”

“Fire Lord Azulon is resting today, sir.”

Zuko blinked. “Is he… well?” _How old was Grandfather again? Eighty? No. Ninety… something?_

“It is not my place to say, sir.” The man shifted his weight to his other foot nervously while Zuko glared at him. “However, I have heard – unofficially of course – that he suffers a mild cold, sir.”

“Ah.” Zuko frowned. “Very well. You are all dismissed. I must dress for training.” The nervous man and two other servants bowed out of the room.

 _I hope this doesn’t affect my evening…_ Zuko’s thoughts were bitter and anxious, and his face was a dark storm cloud. The thought of waiting until next week to visit Kiyi and his mother made his chest ache. He shrugged out of his shirt and absently reached for a well-worn crimson tunic. _It’s not that much time, don’t be so weak, you can endure it._ His attempts to rebuke himself were halfhearted. Deep in his secret heart, Zuko knew that he had already been waiting with unsustainable urgency. The ritual time he spent in his mother’s chambers had grown into something he could no longer control, like too many weeds stabbing their roots into his flesh. He bled with earnestness and desperation each time he sat at the turtle duck pond, eyes focused on the doorway across the courtyard, unaware of the tension in his balled fists until Ursa finally appeared and suddenly he could breathe again. In some of his recent dreams, Zuko didn’t recognize the person reflected back at him when he looked into a mirror. He refused to ask himself why he was relieved to see the unfamiliar figure whenever they appeared, just like he refused to question why he was only ever happy in a single, tiny corner of the palace, for just a few hours every week. The person he was the rest of the time felt more and more like a stranger, and the dissonance made him numb and irritable.

By the time Zuko had secured his billowing red trousers at the knees with tightly wrapped cloth, he had escaped his anxious thoughts. He felt detached, absent from his body. The chattering of anxiety was still dimly audible in the back of his mind, but he set to ignoring it with a passion. He marched out of his room and set course for the outdoor training yard.

\---

Training started on an unusual note, too.

Azula arrived an hour late. Zuko spent that hour drilling kicks relentlessly with Master Kunyo, who bore down on him for the smallest mistakes. Given his mind’s propensity to wander off into his mother’s chambers that morning, Zuko made many of those. “Blasted, boy, it’s like you’re getting _worse_ the more we practice!” Kunyo had yelled, hands held high in exasperation. Zuko was actually glad to see Azula when she finally walked out into the training yard.

But Azula was in high form that morning, and Zuko’s enthusiasm didn’t last long. She had an unsettling air about her, like an empress overlooking an execution. She made no apologies for her lateness and dropped her small towel straight onto the ground when she settled in to stretch. Zuko didn’t know what she was scheming, but he was instantly wary.

Kunyo instructed Zuko to practice the drills by himself and left to tend to Azula. He didn’t seem to catch the subtle warnings in the set of her shoulders or the fierce gleam of her eyes, however. When they began reviewing one of the advanced kata that Azula had been practicing, she made it only halfway through before they clashed.

“No, no, Azula, we’ve been through this before.” Kunyo settled into a wide stance and demonstrated the two-handed strike in question. “The form requires your left hand to be held in a palm-heel strike here,” he shook it for emphasis, “hooking upwards from the hip. And your right hand extends from your torso up, and over. Closer together. Like this.”

“That palm-heel strike restricts my firebending,” Azula said curtly, radiating boredom. “I modified the stance and the strike to get a bigger blast.”

“What?! You cannot modify the kata!” Kunyo’s face was flushed with indignation.

“Why not?” Azula’s voice was a trap lying just out of sight in the underbrush, and Kunyo ran straight into it. Zuko gave up all pretense of focusing on his drills and stared openly.

“It was designed by firebending masters a thousand years ago! Their knowledge and wisdom is absolute. Who are you to question it?”

“I am Azula, daughter of Prince Ozai and granddaughter of Fire Lord Azulon.” She stated this calmly and with absolute certainty. “I question it.”

“You are just an insolent little girl!” Kunyo was furious. “You have no respect for tradition, for the noble art of firebending, or for your elders!” Spittle was flying from his lips in earnest.

“And you are just a servant of the Fire Nation,” Azula quipped, irritated out of her cool demeanor. “Who are _you_ to question _me_?”

Kunyo pressed three fingers against his temple and turned away, muttering irritably. Azula stepped into her modified stance and, with a pivoting gesture that pulled her hands apart, she squared her left fist evenly with the back of her head and struck out with her right palm. A blast of fire snapped through the air and caught on Kunyo’s backside. He yelped and swatted at the flames licking at the back of his masters’ robes. Zuko gasped and extended a hand, but then withdrew it. Within moments, the fire was out.

With a loud “Hah!” and a huge grin, Azula picked up her towel and simply walked away. Zuko felt the shock in his raised eyebrows and gaping mouth. He glanced at Master Kunyo, who suddenly seemed so old and tired. Zuko looked away quickly, catching Kunyo’s attention. The man shook his head slightly.

“Right,” he said softly. “Very well. Let us continue your drills.”

\---

When it finally came time to change into his formal attire and attend the dinner, Zuko found that in spite of all his worrying, he was still completely unprepared.

 _Why are we here? Why is Father here?_ Zuko snuck a glance down the table while lifting a dumpling to his mouth. Ozai was finely dressed in the double-breasted red robes of the royal family. The hair along the crest of his head was pulled into a tight bun; the rest fell down the back of his shoulders in straight, jet-black streaks. His high cheekbones seemed to file right into to the sharp point of his thin beard. Everything about him was, in a word, severe.

Azula and Ursa were seated on either side of Ozai at the end of a long table. Zuko was beside Azula, slightly further away than everyone else. He was thankful for that bit of distance, though. In spite of the close relationship Zuko had fostered with his mother, and in spite of the ease with which Azula was chattering happily with their father, Zuko had never managed to feel entirely comfortable around Ozai. It occurred to him in the midst of that rare moment that he’d even been avoiding his father altogether. Whenever they had crossed paths, Zuko often caught Ozai looking at him with an unsettling expression. He was never sure if it was malicious or not, but it certainly held none of the warmth that softened his gaze when he looked at Azula.

Zuko pushed the thought from his mind, realizing too late that he had suspended the dumpling before his lips for what would have been an uncomfortably long time, if anyone had noticed. He didn’t think they had, but he noticed while he chewed that his mother seemed tense. Had she noticed his dumpling? Was she disappointed in his poor etiquette? Zuko swallowed nervously, and then a voice pulled his attention away.

“How is your training going, Azula?” Ozai asked. His low voice reminded Zuko strongly of Azula’s when she lied, all velvety and cunning. Maybe she learned it from him.

“Very well, Father,” she answered proudly. “I practice every day, even on my own.” She was puffed up and eager, like a child. _It’s so easy to forget how young she is,_ Zuko thought.

Ozai nodded, moving a piece of cheese onto his plate. “That is good to hear.” It seemed to inflate Azula even further. Zuko noticed Ursa make a small smile while she cut her food.

“During training today, Master Kunyo said I was holding my arms too far apart for one of my forms.” Azula placed down her utensils, eyes bright as she began to act out her story. “I told him that’s how you get the biggest fire blast, like this!” Her arms swept into the same strike as earlier and she leaned into the table eagerly. “But he didn’t care. He wanted me to do the form the way _he_ does it. The _dumb_ way.” She shifted her stance and stuck her tongue out mockingly. “So when he had his back turned, I set his robes on fire!” Azula finished with a fierce laugh.

The smile had disappeared from Ursa’s face. Ozai chuckled dryly. “Your teacher sounds like a fool,” he said simply. “I’ll have him sent to the colonies.” He casually ate a bite of grilled meat while Zuko attempted to process what he had just heard.

Azula was faster on the uptake, and gave a small cheer. “Serves him right!” she said happily. “What a dummy!”

“He’s not a dummy!” Zuko found himself protesting. All eyes simultaneously turned onto him for the first time that evening. It unnerved him, but Zuko pressed on, eager to defend his teacher from what he saw as an injustice. “Master Kunyo just thinks that proper firebending has to start with—”

Ozai slammed his fist down onto the table, rattling all the dishes and startling a gasp from Ursa. Zuko jumped in his seat and swallowed his sentence like a sudden hiccup.

“Zuko!” Ozai’s voice was like a whip, and Zuko flinched back. “How dare you lecture your sister on firebending!”

Zuko’s head spun. He shrunk his shoulders defensively, chilled down to his core with fear. His eyes were lowered suppliantly, but Ozai’s terrible anger showed even through the distortions on the sides of Zuko’s vision.

“Despite being nearly two years younger than you,” Ozai said, his voice falling to a low snarl, “how many more forms has Azula mastered than you?”

“… Fourteen,” Zuko said, barely more than a frightened whisper. He wished he could sink through the floor and disappear.

Ozai’s eyes narrowed. “While she excels, you have never done anything but bring me shame. When you were born, we weren’t even sure if you were a bender at all. You didn’t have that spark in your eyes like all firebenders do.”

Zuko was dimly aware that Ursa had shifted across the table, but his vision had begun to tunnel and he couldn’t see her face anymore. Ozai charged on ruthlessly.

“I planned to cast you from the palace. How embarrassing for a prince of the Fire Nation to have a _nonbender_ as his firstborn!” He spat the word like it was poison in his mouth. Zuko was too numb to even flinch.

“Ozai!” Ursa said angrily, but a second slam on the table cut off her protest.

“Luckily for you, your mother and the Fire Sages pleaded with me to give you a chance.” Ozai’s voice was thick with irony. “Azula never needed that kind of luck. She was born lucky. You were lucky to be born.”

Zuko heard him from the deep recesses of his mind. He felt like the walls of the grand dining hall had crept up and begun to squeeze around him. Sure that he would suffocate, he struggled to gasp tiny mouthfuls of air, quickening with terror. The floor had fallen away and he was suspended in this feeling, trapped and compressed.

“Ozai!” Ursa’s rebuke, faint and angry, echoed dimly in Zuko’s ringing ears. “What a terrible thing to say!”

 _Mother…?_ Zuko lost track as his breathing grew increasingly panicked. His vision was totally obscured, scrubbed out by a thousand fuzzy lights. He heard a heavy booming sound and several voices speaking over each other, and then the invisible walls suddenly released their grip and Zuko was falling, falling, and darkness washed everything else out.

\---

_The room was very dark, and Zuko was walking. He couldn’t see any of the walls. Just endless carpeted floor. A small table with a mirror appeared in the distance. Wordless whispers behind and on either side as he walked. The mirror was bigger now, and a shadowy figure became visible. They moved as Zuko moved, but he didn’t recognize them. Closer. The figure wore a long, double-breasted gown, and long black hair draped freely over their shoulders. Closer still. Zuko recognized his own eyes, his own face. It was painted like Kiyi, whom he held in his hands. He touched his face, saw the fine powder on his fingertips. Looked up and saw his mother behind him, smiling. Looked at himself. Smiled. Beautiful._

_The room began to take shape. He saw a wall from his mother’s room. Safe, warm. But the whispers were louder, more emotive. Mocking. Zuko was nervous. Turned around. It was the Fire Lord’s throne room. Ursa was gone. Countless men towered over Zuko, pointing and laughing. No, no! Don’t look! Frantically, he turned towards the throne. Great pillars of flame lit up the hard lines of Ozai’s face, his beady eyes dark with anger. Terror. Zuko fell to his hands and knees, long hair draping down. Pleading. Wiping his face on his beautiful sleeve. A roaring burst of light rushed towards him—_

\---

“NO!”

The cry ripped from his throat as Zuko sprang to a sitting position. He clutched at the left side of his face, but it felt completely normal, almost like there had never been any pain at all. He choked back a sob and balled his raised hand into a fist, wiping roughly at the sweat and tears. But his eyes were defiant and his heart was sore, so for a long moment he cried silently, shoulders wracking with restrained sobs.

Gradually, the sobs receded. Breathing heavily, Zuko opened his eyes. _Where am I?_ Pale moonlight slipped through a gap in the drawn curtains and sliced across the bed where he sat, revealing a knot of sweaty sheets. _My bed,_ Zuko realized. _How did I get here?_ He strained his memory, wincing at the dream that still hid just behind his eyelids. Further back than that. Fuzzy thoughts began to take shape. Zuko remembered a dumpling, and then the rest came rushing back all at once. Dinner. Father. _Oh._

Fear clutched automatically at his frayed nerves as he recalled how his father had scolded him. Zuko shivered, becoming aware of the way his bedclothes clung to him, soaked through with cold sweat. He swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and focused his entire mind on the simple task of shedding the garments. Zuko shuffled through a drawer and pulled on a loose pair of pants, relishing in the feeling of their crisp dryness against his skin. He slipped his arms into a short robe and cinched the fastenings on both sides of his waist.

Too soon, it was finished. Zuko looked around, searching for something else to distract his mind. His eyes settled on the strip of moonlight. It was peaceful enough, but for some reason, it disturbed him. He frowned and walked towards the window. Just as his hand had begun to draw back the curtain, Zuko figured it out.

_It’s nighttime!_

Zuko flung the curtains aside and slid the tall window open, turning his eyes on the dark sky. It quickly proved futile, as the ordinary moon and twinkling stars offered no clues about the lateness of the hour. All he learned was that winter had fully settled in. He ducked his head back inside and closed the window on the chill air.

With a frantic determination, Zuko reexamined his fragmented memories, pacing between his bed and the window. _I must have fainted,_ he decided. _I don’t remember coming here, or changing my clothes. Someone else must have done that while I slept. Blasted… damn. It’s so late. But how late? Is it…_ too _late?_ The implications of his thoughts were too fragile to put into words, so Zuko turned on his heels and walked across the room to the door.

“I’ll just go see,” he said aloud, forcing more confidence into his voice than he felt. It didn’t help.

The halls of the palace were dark and still, lit only by sparse streaks of moonlight. _If they already put out the lamps…_ Zuko marched on, quieting the errant thought. _I’ll just listen by her door to see if she’s still awake. There’s no harm in that. If I don’t hear anything, I’ll come back. It’ll be fine._

He arrived at the hall with the crimson vases. It felt so cavernous when it was quiet. Zuko’s steps sounded like small thunderclaps to him, even when he walked carefully. He became aware of his pulse, then realized how unusual that was, and finally recognized that he was nervous. There didn’t seem to be a specific reason for him to be; he’d walked down that hall with his mother a hundred times now. _But never alone,_ Zuko retorted to himself. He carried on being nervous, and walked past the vases.

Perhaps his senses were sharpened by the slyness of his sleuthing. Perhaps the absence of his mother’s calm presence freed his attention while he walked. Or perhaps he was less distracted by daydreams of the evening to come, of the company he would keep, and of the person he would become, as naturally and unthinkingly as one might slip into a comfortable pair of slippers. Whatever the reason, Zuko found himself studying the hallway as if for the first time and marveling at how little he knew about it.

It extended back a short distance and then cut to the left and right. There were doors on either side leading to rooms that Zuko had never seen. He turned left, then right at another corner. His mother’s chambers were through the doorway at the end of the hall. As he walked towards it, Zuko wondered what he would have found if he had turned right instead of left at the end of the hall with the crimson vases. He also wondered where this place was in the palace, and realized then that there were no windows. These hallways were the first still illuminated by firelight that he had passed that night. A small spark lit in Zuko’s belly; maybe that meant Ursa was still awake!

His anticipation was stoked by the distant sound of voices as he approached the doorway. She’s definitely awake! Zuko felt a rush of excitement and closed the final distance with a few more steps. He was standing before the door, one hand half-extended to push it open, when he caught himself.

The voices were no longer distant, nor inviting. Zuko withdrew his hand, instead crouching and angling his ear towards the door. He could distinguish at least two speakers, one a low baritone and the other higher and sharper. His mother’s voice, angry. He even made out a few words: “—letters… dare you—” The lower voice was harder to hear through the door. Curiosity and caution were at war in Zuko’s head. _Go back. I shouldn’t be here. I should go back… but who is Mother speaking to like that? I want to know…_ The argument beyond the doors raged on. _This is a terrible idea,_ Zuko thought right before pushing against the door.

The tiny fracture he’d opened would have been more than enough to give Zuko away, had anyone been watching the door. After a tense moment that felt like an eternity, Zuko uncoiled. The yelling had continued uninterrupted. Zuko turned his attention to the words that were now flowing clearly through the opening and immediately recognized Ozai’s deep snarl.

“—how I’ll treat him, dear wife. I want you to watch carefully from now on. Every time I speak harshly to him, every time I wound him, every time I treat Zuko as if he were—”

 _They’re fighting about me?!_ Zuko was stunned, and a familiar stone of fear settled into his stomach.

“—his mother’s wish.”

“How can you be so cruel?!” Ursa shrieked. A sharp clap ripped through the air, causing Zuko to wince automatically. Ursa cried out, and then there were a series of heavy sounds. A stunned silence. Zuko tried to figure out what had happened, but his head had begun to spin again. He steadied himself with a hand against the floor and focused again on translating the low sounds into words.

“—and if I find out that you’ve been hiding anything else from me, dear wife, there is nothing in this world that will protect you from my displeasure.”

Small sobs followed, and Zuko’s heart ached. _Mother… I’m so sorry…_ She sounded much lower than before, and Zuko pieced together that she must have fallen. He blinked, shocked. _Did Father just—?!_ Then, the cautious part of Zuko’s mind came roaring to the forefront, and Zuko was suddenly on high alert, heart pounding in his ears. Footsteps from within the room, growing louder— _Father is leaving! He’ll find me!!_

Zuko fell back off of his heels clumsily, stricken with a singular urgency: _Get away!!_ He scrambled to his feet and ran, clipping corners faster than he ever had. He ran and ran, flashing by lamps and doorways and windows. He ran until his throat ached from gasping in huge swallows of cold air. He practically slammed into his door, shut it with what he hoped was care, and leapt at his bed, throwing the knotted sheets over his head. Only then did he stop to catch his breath, struggling to hold it and strain his hearing against the great wall of silence that engulfed him. In between tiny gasps of air, he searched with his ears for any upset, any footstep that might have followed and caught him. The minutes crept by. There was nothing.

As the peak of Zuko’s tension started to bleed out, he realized he was shaking. He curled into a tight ball, hugging his pillow against his chest. Then, the heartache hit. Tiny fragments of memories lashed against the surface of his mind like razor blades, words too raw to process, meanings too inconceivable to understand. Zuko sobbed into his pillow, terrified and heartbroken and alone, until he wore himself totally down and his mind ran into the fitful arms of sleep.


	4. Protected

Zuko was scared. He flinched his way through his activities with the paranoia only guilt can bring, convinced that Ozai was waiting around every corner to punish him for eavesdropping. His fear was heightened when it was revealed the next morning that Master Kunyo had mysteriously vanished. Zuko’s heart sank. _He sent him to the colonies,_ Zuko realized, shocked. _He really did it. And just for disagreeing with Azula. What would he do to me if he knew what I heard? Do_ I _even know what I heard?_

Zuko’s stomach roiled nervously as he poked at his breakfast and continued reading his schedule for the day. Master Kunyo’s training time was to be taken over by Master Piandao, who would now double as a firebending and swordsmanship instructor. Zuko imagined that the same would happen with Azula and her advisors, Li and Lo, and idly wondered what it would be like to train separately from her from now on.

With each hour that passed, Zuko unwound by a tiny fraction. By the second day, he had stopped startling whenever his name was called. The third day felt almost normal, although Zuko’s nerves were still slightly frayed. When his morning lessons finished on the fourth day, he received a summons from Master Piandao to meet him in one of the more public sections of the palace gardens. Zuko felt curious instead of suspicious about the invitation, which marked, in his estimation, both a full recovery and that he had gotten away with his eavesdropping. Zuko sighed and shook out the last of his paranoid tension, then headed straight out to the gardens.

Master Piandao was sitting on a cushion placed on a small rock in a grassy patch of the garden. Beside him was a larger rock that had been shaved down to form a flat, table-like surface, which was covered by a circular board. A matching cushion was set on another small rock across the board from Piandao. Zuko walked across a sun-warmed stone path towards his teacher, breathing in the pleasant smell of fresh herbs.

Piandao’s face crinkled warmly as Zuko approached. “Ah, young Zuko, welcome,” he greeted. “Do sit down and join me for a game of Pai Sho.”

Zuko sat. “I’m not very good at Pai Sho,” he admitted. He had played it only once before, with his mother on one of their evenings together. Holding so many threads of strategy in his mind at once had been a challenge in her perfumed chambers late at night, so Zuko had lost spectacularly. Maybe he had a better chance out in the midday sun.

“No matter,” Piandao said cheerfully. “It’s a fine game for a changing season.” He gestured for Zuko to make the first play.

Zuko moved a tile, wondering what Piandao had meant. Winter, mild though it was, had set in fully. Maybe he was talking about the lunar new year? The palace staff had recently begun decorating with rabbit-painted lanterns, after all. Piandao’s dark, bearded face was a pleasant and unreadable mask. Zuko gave a small shrug and turned his attention to the board. He lost several tiles in a row.

Piandao chuckled. “If I had wanted a match that would challenge me, I could have waited until tomorrow and invited your uncle instead.” His eyes twinkled. “I may yet.”

“My uncle?” Zuko asked. A spark of excitement lit in his chest. Zuko had always been fond of his uncle, though he seldom visited the palace. “Is he coming here?”

Piandao nodded, sweeping away one of Zuko’s tiles. He met Zuko’s eyes. “Your wielding of the dual broadswords is coming along nicely.”

“Thank you, Master.” Zuko blinked, then bowed his head quickly. He’d been expecting punishment for so long that the compliment had taken him completely by surprise. Another tile slipped away.

“You know, Zuko,” Piandao said, gazing peacefully around the gardens, “there are a great many responsibilities that fall on the shoulders of young princes. Too many, one might argue, for a boy of…?”

“Eleven,” Zuko supplied. His birthday had just passed just a few weeks before.

“Eleven,” Piandao repeated. “Young princes of eleven are sometimes held to a standard that far exceeds other children of the same age. There is much to learn and master. History, etiquette, numbers and letters, the fine arts. The disciplines of fire and the sword.” He counted these off on his fingers, then waved his hand. “These are all fine knowledges to pursue, of course, and I have no doubt that you shall master them swiftly. But there is also the matter of being young to attend to.”

He laughed conspiratorially, which Zuko found utterly baffling. Piandao calmly played the final tile, locking Zuko in defeat. “Some will presume to instruct you not only in these fine subjects, but also on the matter of being human. If I have learned anything in my many years on this earth, it is that we must be our own masters on _that_ subject.”

Piandao looked directly at Zuko, his silver eyes fierce and serious. “There is a great wave of change coursing towards this palace,” he said. “Ordinary children of eleven might be swept away in the current. But exceptionally clever young princes of eleven might use their surroundings to their advantage and avoid such a fate. I wonder which kind you will ultimately prove yourself to be.”

\---

Zuko hated formal events.

He realized this, most inconveniently, in the midst of a grand procession welcoming his uncle, Iroh, back to the palace after a long span of time out in the field. And grand it truly was; Iroh was the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation and an esteemed war general. His comings and goings from the palace, rare though they were, were always exceptionally boisterous, as Iroh boasted the legendary feat of having slain the last living dragon. For as long as Zuko could remember, Iroh’s presence had meant that the streets of the palace city would be lined with people wearing dragon masks, that puppet shows reenacting Iroh’s victory would be active on every street corner, and that giant dragon puppets that took four men to operate would be roaming around the city. And if people took up chanting “Iroh, Dragon of the West”… well, that was only natural, right? Surely, Zuko thought, it was a sign of his own faults that he found the whole thing a bit macabre. Zuko had spent time amongst the dragon skulls collected in an underground antechamber, trophies of his grandfather Sozin’s exploits, and he had grown fond of and fascinated by them as a child. Learning about his uncle’s accomplishment in his lessons had crushed him; it felt somehow at odds with the quirky man he knew Iroh to be, but it also meant that Zuko’s childish fantasy of meeting a living dragon would never be fulfilled. All of the dragon-themed paraphernalia forced him to reexamine that disappointment every time Iroh came to visit. It irritated Zuko, and he wished he could skip ahead to when his uncle’s palanquin arrived at the palace gates and just block all the rest out.

Zuko turned his attention away from the festivities beyond the gate, focusing instead on the group of people gathered within it. There was quite a crowd there, too. Zuko and Azula stood side by side. She was behaving well, but Zuko knew it was just another lie. _It’s because Father is here,_ he thought bitterly. _Azula always acts like a princess around him._ And Ozai was, in fact, there, standing at the end of the opposite line of people. His place would have been right beside the Fire Lord himself, indicating Ozai’s high status – except that the Fire Lord was absent. Again. Zuko thought of the nervous man in his chambers a few days earlier who had claimed that Azulon was suffering from a cold, and wondered if he had been telling the truth. Being bedridden for nearly a week seemed unthinkable to Zuko. In all of his eleven years, he had never been afflicted with any illness that incapacitated him for more than a day or two.

With all the wisdom of a child who thought himself clever, Zuko decided that it was impossible and that Azulon was definitely dying, and his mind spiraled off from there. He was brought back to the present several minutes later when, overwhelmed by a sudden vision of Iroh donning the ceremonial hairpin of the Fire Lord while sipping tea and belching, Zuko laughed suddenly aloud. Azula elbowed him sharply in the side, causing him to sputter a second laugh. He coughed emptily and attempted to force the smile off his face, which was difficult once he noticed Azula’s grin out of the corner of his eye.

Desperate for something somber to quiet the laughter bubbling around in his stomach, Zuko scanned his eyes across the rows of generals and palace staff. It was then that he noticed his mother for the first time, and all the laughter within him quieted.

Ursa stood a few steps below Ozai and slightly behind a broad-shouldered man in a military uniform. Zuko was surprised that he’d missed her, and even more surprised to realize that he hadn’t seen her since the night he’d snuck up to her door. Guilt coursed through him while his memory played that scene out vividly in his mind. Zuko had been so preoccupied with escaping punishment for sneaking around that he had completely forgotten about his mother. About the argument she’d had with Ozai, and… what Zuko suspected that his father had done to hurt her. Zuko squinted and shifted his stance, trying to get a better look at his mother’s face. He couldn’t see anything suspicious, but her head was bowed and he could only really see one side of her, as she was standing further up the steps from him. Zuko gave up and bowed his own head, lost in anxious thoughts.

 _Maybe I was wrong. I didn’t see it. She looks fine. Surely Father wouldn’t do such a violent thing. I must be wrong…_ _I hope I get to see her soon._

Jostled from his reverie, Zuko saw that the procession had finally arrived and his uncle was ascending the palace steps with a coterie of armored officers. A tall, uniformed man with a friendly face kept pace at Iroh’s side. After a moment of puzzlement, Zuko recognized him as his cousin, Lu Ten. He had grown taller since the last time Zuko had seen him, whereas Iroh had become somewhat more rotund. Zuko smirked again at his image of this happy man belching at his coronation ceremony.

When the procession passed by, Iroh nodded slightly towards Zuko and Azula. Zuko bowed back automatically. When he raised his head, Iroh caught his eye and winked. Zuko frowned, then decided that adults were just weird and filed the matter promptly away.

At the top of the steps, there was a boring speech that Zuko couldn’t hear which ended with Iroh and Ozai bowing deeply at each other, their profiles displayed regally for the crowds beyond the gate to see. Then, the gates were drawn closed and the people on the steps dispersed. Azula had disappeared inexplicably, and when Zuko sprang into motion a few moments later, he couldn’t find his mother, either.

Eventually, his feet led him to the turtle duck pond in the inner gardens. He had several hours of free time before dinner, so he settled into a soft patch of grass disguised by a well-manicured shrub for an afternoon nap. A meandering breeze carried around a dissonant harmony of honks and splashes; three baby chicks had recently hatched. From where Zuko lay with his hands tucked behind his head, he could just barely see the broken eggs in the nest hidden behind the stone bench. He smiled and looked up at the broad sky. Zuko watched the clouds float by, as lazy and languid as he was. The sky was a crisper blue in winter, he thought.

When he awoke, his vision was flooded with a burgundy and violet sunset. Zuko sat up, disoriented, and struggled to collect himself. Someone called out to him, now that he was visible over the shrub, and led him off into the palace. Still half-asleep, Zuko was brushed off by a few fussy attendants and pushed into the dining hall.

Zuko was placed away from the center of the room, for which he was grateful. He managed to eat most of his plate of food while nodding along with the story of a boring commander who had clearly had too much to drink. The man repeated his story three times – a tale of heroism against piracy during his month at sea on a Fire Nation Army ship – and the details grew so exaggerated each time that Zuko began to wonder if the man was even a commander at all.

Profoundly bored, he started stealing glances over the man’s swaying shoulder at the head table. Ozai and Iroh ate across from each other, although the Fire Lord’s place between them was predictably empty. Lu Ten sat at Iroh’s side, and Zuko felt a surge of jealousy of his older cousin. The spot beside Ozai was occupied by some important military man or other. _He’s nobody,_ Zuko thought impetuously. _What would Azula say? “I’m the prince!”_ He smiled, and felt a little better. He remembered too late to nod a reaction at the commander across from him, but luckily the man was too drunk to notice his delay.

Zuko’s thoughts – and eyes – drifted off when the commander began his story again. Iroh and Lu Ten were laughing at some shared joke. Iroh clasped his son on the shoulder and wiped his eyes, grinning broadly. Zuko’s chest ached. _When will I be allowed to sit at Father’s side?_

\---

What felt like an eternity later, Zuko was finally freed from the stuffy dinner. He walked back to his rooms slowly. An unsettled, listless feeling had crept into his body, and Zuko couldn’t figure out why it was there or how to get rid of it. He didn't feel especially like sleeping, but he didn’t feel especially like doing anything else, either. By the time he reached his door, the only thing he had been able to decide was that he would change into more comfortable clothing, and visions of ceremonially burning each of his many pieces of formal clothing filled his mind with fire and smoke. He grinned as he swung the door shut behind him.

“Zuko?”

All of his muscles clenched at once. Sudden alertness coursed through his head, making him dizzy. He spun around, hoping he didn’t miscalculate and fall over, and started to bring his hands up into a familiar guard stance. He quested his gaze out into the dark room, squinting his eyes as he turned until they fell upon a dark figure in a double-breasted gown with long, draping sleeves—

“Mother?!”

Zuko dropped his arms limply to his sides, stunned. Ursa stepped forward and made a placating gesture with her open hands.

“Sorry to startle you, my love.” Ursa was just a few strides away now, and her soft smile was barely visible through the thick darkness and the dazzling lights in the edges of Zuko’s vision. He recognized her voice now that his nerves had quieted.

Zuko rushed forward and embraced his mother. His eyes stung and his heart ached and his head still reeled, but he could think of no place he would rather have been than encircled in her arms. Zuko opened his mouth, a question half formed on his lips, but then he closed it again. He was too confused to decide whether it was okay to admit all that he had heard when he hid outside her door, especially now that he was so full of doubt about his interpretations.

Ursa backed gently out of Zuko’s embrace and bent slightly down to match his height, laying her hands on his shoulder and the side of his face. Zuko, eager for a new course of thought, realized that Ursa didn’t need to kneel any longer. He must have grown taller.

“I’m afraid I don’t have very long to spend with you, dear.” Ursa gave a small, reassuring smile. “Tonight, I’m… busy. But I think you can help me with something. It’s a secret I wouldn’t entrust to anyone else.”

Zuko felt a swell of pride overcome him. He nodded enthusiastically. _Mother needs my help! I can help her!_

Ursa smiled again, more warmly this time, and ruffled his hair affectionately. “Here’s what I need you to do. Take this.” She procured a small parcel from the folds of her belt and pressed it into Zuko’s hands. A letter, folded and sealed. As far as Zuko could tell, it was unaddressed. He noticed that it was heavier than a single piece of paper ought to feel, and felt something small and hard enveloped within. “Bring this to your uncle. Tonight, if you can. I want to ensure that he receives it before he leaves for Ba Sing Se tomorrow.”

Zuko’s heart dropped fractionally. “Uncle is leaving already? But he just got here!”

“I know you must be disappointed,” Ursa said. “I am, as well. I had hoped…” She trailed off, eyes closed, and shook her head slightly. “Nevertheless, he leaves, and we have but tonight. Can you do it?” Ursa’s golden eyes were serious and piercing. It felt like she was looking straight through him.

“Yes, Mother. I can do it.”

“Very good.” Her gaze softened, and she pressed a kiss onto his forehead. “You should be able to find him in his chambers in the eastern wing. Good luck, my love. I will see you very soon.”

Ursa rose with a silky rustle, then slipped swiftly through the door. For a moment, Zuko wondered if he had imagined everything. It felt so unreal, and his heart was still racing from his initial surprise. But the letter in his hands was as real as anything he could perceive, all crisp paper and soft wax.

Zuko rubbed his eyes with one hand, clutching the letter in the other. Right. He had a job to do, and he was determined to see it through.

He tucked the folded paper into his pocket and stepped out into the palace once again.

\---

Iroh’s door was, from the outside, very much like most others in the palace, innumerable steel doors that Zuko had casually approached and passed through countless thousands of times before. And yet, Zuko stood frozen in the hallway, paralyzed with nervousness.

Zuko didn’t know why he felt so anxious. The palace was his home. Why did he always manage to feel like a thief, skulking around in a place where he should be comfortable? He was irritated with himself for having weird feelings that he couldn’t make sense of, and even more irritated that it seemed to be happening more and more frequently.

The irritation won out, and Zuko rapped on the metal door in pure defiance of his unsettled nerves. He was scowling when the door swung open, spilling bright firelight and noisy clamor out into the dark, quiet hallway.

“Ah, Zuko!”

It was Iroh himself who stood in the doorway, tunic loosened over his broad shoulders, smiling brightly from within an impressive beard. He stepped back and pivoted, swinging an arm welcomingly into the hazy room. With his free hand, Iroh clasped Zuko’s shoulder and drew him forward, step-stumbling through the doorway.

“Everyone, it’s my nephew!”

There was an approving roar as several men in disassembled military uniforms raised fists and sturdy cups in greeting. Zuko struggled to take in his surroundings through the smoke and noise. On closer inspection, he noticed that one of the officers was actually Lu Ten, and several others were actually women. There were probably more than a dozen of them in total, but their flurry of activity between a few smaller circles made it difficult to count. Some were playing cards, some drank enthusiastically from thick clay cups, and one man puffed ineffectually at a tsungi horn while his companion lay laughing and crying on the floor. They all seemed exceptionally happy to Zuko – happier, in fact, than any other adults had ever looked. Zuko was unable to determine where the smoke was coming from, but it smelled too sweet and it made him feel a bit dizzy. He leaned into his uncle’s grip on his shoulder, trying to steady his balance. Another hand appeared and clasped his other shoulder; Zuko was grateful for the additional mooring. Then, he was being backed suddenly out of the room.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t have too much fun without me!”

The heavy door clicked shut, and the noise and light and smoke dimmed considerably. Zuko took a deep breath of clearer air and alertness caused some of the fog to dissipate from his mind. Iroh let go of his shoulders – Zuko did not fall as he had feared – and placed a guiding hand on his back, squarely between Zuko’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry, nephew,” Iroh said jovially as he guided them down the hallway. “I forgot how young you are! Let’s go for a nice, relaxing walk to clear our heads.” Iroh’s voice was calm, drawling, and somewhat mesmerizing. Zuko found himself obeying automatically.

“My companions are celebrating,” Iroh explained before Zuko could ask. “Tomorrow, we set out to capture the great city of Ba Sing Se. When we return, they will all be much more famous. I’m sure that this is only a dim shadow of the great celebration they will enjoy in the future, eh?” Iroh nudged Zuko playfully and chuckled from deep within his belly as they stepped out into the gardens.

Zuko was suddenly very aware of how tired he was. His mind was growing rapidly clearer now, as Iroh had predicted, but he felt a great weariness creeping around the back of his head. The sensation was similar to dipping the back of his head into a pond and feeling the line of cool water inch over his ears and towards his face. He yawned, and blinked rapidly to stop his watery eyes from spilling over.

“What brings you to see me, dear nephew?” When Zuko opened his eyes, Iroh was bending over to look levelly at him, hands on his knees. His pose was the exact mirror of how Zuko’s mother had–

 _Oh! Mother’s letter!_ Zuko blinked once more, then put a hand over the folded paper in his pocket.

“I have something for you,” Zuko said, choosing his words carefully through the veneer of sleepiness and lingering smoke. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret! I love secrets!” Iroh’s wide, childish grin crinkled his eyes, and he somehow looked older and younger at the same time. He looked over his shoulder, then leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “So, what have you brought for me, Prince Zuko?”

Zuko felt a pang of nervousness and thought vague, protective thoughts about his mother. He frowned at his uncle. “Will you keep my secret?” he asked as seriously as he could.

Iroh matched his seriousness easily, if still jovially. He nodded, and gestured grandly towards the sky. “Of course. I swear it by the beautiful spirit who lives in the moon. Your secret is safe with me.”

Mollified, Zuko drew the letter slowly from his pocket and held it out. Iroh took it, bowing his head in silent acknowledgment, then stood straight and quickly unfurled the paper. Zuko could see the shadow of many thin lines of black ink illuminated by moonlight through the page. He looked around the paper at his uncle’s face, searching for clues about what he was reading.

But he wasn’t reading. Iroh’s eyebrows were raised and he held something small and circular between his thumb and finger. “Oh-ho,” he said with delighted surprise.

Zuko could have died of curiosity. He craned his neck for a better look. But a moment later, Iroh closed his fist around the object and turned his eyes towards the page, darting back and forth rapidly as he read.

It seemed to take about a year for Iroh to finish reading. Zuko opened his mouth to ask–

The question evaporated on the spot as the paper sparked and crumpled to ash. Zuko stared wordlessly, mouth gaping, then looked urgently at his uncle. Iroh’s face was suddenly indecipherable to him.

“I have three questions,” Iroh finally said, his gaze faraway. “Did you read this letter?”

He looked directly at Zuko, and his gaze was completely sober and serious. Zuko shook his head quickly, and Iroh nodded, softening considerably.

“Good. Do you know who wrote it?”

Zuko nodded.

“That is also good. Do you trust her?”

Zuko blinked, surprised for the first time. Trust his mother? Of course. He nodded twice.

“Then,” Iroh said brightly, his eyes twinkling, “I have a favor to ask of you. Two, actually.”

“Okay!” Zuko said breathlessly, excited to be trusted again with a secret thing. He was rather proud of himself so far, and his head was spinning with a hundred theories about the contents of his mother’s letter.

“First, I have a message for _her_.” Iroh winked for emphasis, then held up a suspenseful finger. “Tell her: I understand.”

Zuko waited for him to continue, but he did not. Then, Zuko nodded, trying to conceal his disappointment over how little information he had been given. He couldn’t rule out a single theory – not even the one about sneaking sweets from the palace kitchens with the help of trained birds!

“Second!” _Oh, right, there was a second thing._ “I would like you to visit Master Piandao at sunrise tomorrow morning. I very much desire to challenge him to a game of Pai Sho before I leave for Ba Sing Se.”

Zuko’s heart sank. He knew he wouldn’t be able to learn anything useful about his mother’s letter now. _Is he even taking this seriously at all?!_

“I know what you must be thinking, Prince Zuko,” Iroh said. “You want a serious mission, one that is full of adventure!” Iroh laughed and clapped Zuko on the shoulder. “You are so young. Don’t worry, Prince Zuko. When you become an old man like me, you will understand that Pai Sho is also full of adventure and secrets.”

Zuko seriously doubted that, but pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“Did you know that Pai Sho is played all over the world?” Iroh made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Every nation has its own ways of playing it. I learned many different languages of Pai Sho while I travelled with the Fire Nation Army.” He puffed his chest proudly.

Zuko nodded because he thought he was expected to, but he was privately puzzled. _That’s a weird thing to be proud of if you also did things like slay a dragon…_

“But, like most other things, the Fire Nation’s language is the most beautiful and exhilarating to use!” Iroh guffawed a great laugh and puffed his chest. “I heard a rumor that Master Piandao is fluent in this fiery tongue, and I much desire to duel with him!”

Iroh looked directly at Zuko and smiled again. “Humor an old man his hobbies, Prince Zuko! I assure you, this is a matter most serious.” He started leading them back towards the palace, but stopped suddenly in his tracks. “Oh, I almost forgot! When you see him, please give him _this_.”

Iroh pressed Zuko’s hand open and clasped it with his own. When he let it go, there was something small and circular in Zuko’s palm. He lifted it up to his eyes and recognized it immediately. It was a simple wooden brooch that usually sat on his mother’s vanity desk. He turned it over and found the word “Hira’a” carved finely below the clasp. Zuko was full of questions, but he was too tired to sort through them and choose which ones to ask.

When they reentered the palace, Iroh patted Zuko once on the top of his head, startling him and interrupting his yawn. They both laughed quietly.

“Head off to bed, Prince Zuko. Don’t forget about my favor!” Iroh waved over his shoulder as he walked down the hall towards his chambers. “It’s very important!”

Zuko watched him walk away for a moment, listening to his dissonant humming until he finally recognized one of the processional songs the army band had played that morning. Zuko smiled once more at his strange, strange uncle, then turned his feet towards his own soft, inviting bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some extra scenes from [Ursa’s pov](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22157263). (There will be a link back to Chapter 5 at the end.)


	5. Caged

“Zuko, my love!”

Ursa’s voice followed two soft raps on the door. Zuko looked up excitedly from his calligraphy practice – which he found excruciatingly boring – and called back, “Come in!”

Ursa glided into the room, and Zuko sprang up from his seat. “Hello, Mother.”

“Hello, my dear.” A wry smile spread across Ursa’s face. She leaned to the side, peering dramatically over his shoulder, and asked with amusement, “How is your writing coming along, love?”

Zuko shifted slightly to obscure her view, then flushed. “Um, fine? Really well, I mean. Uh, I mean… yeah.”

After a heavy pause, he glanced up and saw the mirth in her raised eyebrows and twisted smile. Zuko tried, he really tried, to cover his sudden snort of laughter with a cough, but when Ursa started giggling, it was over for both of them.

“Ah, Zuko,” Ursa said, heaving an unsteady sigh and wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “You’re in luck; I’ve come to rescue you from your torture.”

“Yes! Finally!” Zuko thrust a fist into the air triumphantly, then made a gesture uncannily alike to, say, sweeping away the contents of a table. More giggles ensued from both mother and son.

“Come along, love, and do compose yourself,” Ursa said with laughter in her eyes. “Let’s fetch Azula, there’s a surprise for you both that I think you’ll like to see.”

“A surprise!” Zuko exclaimed, half-prepared jokes forgotten. “What is it, Mother, what is it?”

“You’ll just have to come see,” Ursa taunted, turning towards the door. The pair departed hand-in-hand, brush and ink eagerly abandoned on the table.

As they traversed the palace towards Azula’s room, Zuko’s mind was racing, wondering what awaited him. Was it a good assessment from the last trial he and Azula participated in? The new clothes he’d been fitted for after his recent growth spurt? Or, even… something from Father?! The possibilities seemed endless, and Zuko passed through them all with great anticipation.

When Azula’s door came into view, something seemed to shift. Ursa softly pulled her hand away, and Zuko saw a strange, subtle expression on her face when he glanced up at her in surprise. He had no idea what she was thinking, but he couldn’t imagine his mother looking like that outside _his_ door. Finally, Ursa knocked.

“Azula, may I come in?” Her voice was tender, but Zuko thought he saw tension in her hands.

“Come in,” Azula said from within.

As Ursa opened the door, she said, “Your brother is here, too.” It opened wide enough for Zuko to see Azula visibly deflate. She was standing beside her own writing desk, a mirror of Zuko’s own stance minutes before. Azula shot a poisonous look in his direction, sending a chill down Zuko’s spine.

“Oh,” she said flatly. “What is it, then?”

“There’s a surprise waiting for the two of you,” Ursa explained. Her voice seemed heavier, somehow. “I came to fetch you and Zuko so I could show you together.”

“I’m working,” Azula quipped. “And I don’t like surprises, anyways. Can’t you just get it over with now?”

Zuko glanced at the table behind her and was shocked to see a tall pile of papers beside a glistening black brush. The character on the top, _fire,_ was drawn with careful, confident brushstrokes. The cursory flick at the base of the character even wavered slightly, creating the perfect illusion of flickering flames in the ink trails. Zuko was amazed; if he had attempted such a risk, it would probably have ruined his whole page. He felt suddenly ashamed of his own sloppy transcriptions strewn about on a desk just down the hallway.

“Azula, watch your tone, young lady.” Ursa frowned. “Just come along now and you’ll have your answers then.”

“What _is_ it, Mother?” Azula’s voice completely changed. The petulance had washed completely away, replaced by a childish whine. Zuko thought that it made more sense coming out of a normal 10-year-old’s mouth, but hearing it from Azula unsettled him. It seemed to soften Ursa’s frown, however.

“Alright, I’ll give you a hint,” she conceded. Zuko and Azula perked up. Zuko was holding his breath. Ursa smirked and said, “You two have some gifts from Uncle Iroh. He sent them all the way from Ba Sing Se!”

Azula dropped her sweet façade immediately and rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Ugh. Uncle Iroh’s gifts are terrible.”

“Azula,” Ursa warned. “Don’t judge your turtle ducks before they hatch.”

Azula sighed again and crossed her arms. “Fine. Where are these gifts?”

Ursa gave a small sigh that Zuko could only barely hear. Ursa gestured towards the door, then tucked her hands into her sleeves and led them into the hallway. Zuko and Azula followed side-by-side, although with a sizeable distance between them. Azula’s steps were heavy, toeing, as usual, the fine line between expressing her displeasure and being scolded for blatant insubordination.

They settled in one of the medium-sized halls, a place where visiting delegations of up to around ten people were often sent to enjoy tea between meetings. Seated on a cushioned chair while her children hovered nearby, Ursa withdrew a letter from her sleeve and unfolded it carefully. For a moment, it seemed like her hands were trembling. Zuko blinked, and then they were steady once more. _Must have imagined it,_ he thought with a small shrug, but his eyes remained fixed on his mother’s hands in spite of himself. Ursa took a breath and began to read.

“Warmest greetings to you all. Hello especially, my niece and nephew! I hope you are studying hard. I can just imagine the bright flames you must be producing in your fire kata since I departed for Ba Sing Se. You will surely make great Generals in your time.

“Travelling through the Earth Kingdom has been slow but fascinating. I have enjoyed many games of Pai Sho with some clever, green-clad people! They are our prisoners, of course, but that isn’t important.”

Azula’s laugh was high and sharp, like a new bell. Zuko giggled a moment later. Ursa glanced up at them momentarily, then read on.

“We reached Ba Sing Se last night. If the city is as magnificent as its wall, Ba Sing Se must be something to behold. I hope you all may see it someday, if we don’t burn it to the ground first!”

This time, Azula and Zuko laughed in synchrony.

“Until then, enjoy these gifts.”

Two servants appeared in the corner of Zuko’s vision. The gifts! He had almost forgotten, transported by his uncle’s words. Zuko scurried over to the servant who was looking at him.

“For Zuko, a pearl dagger from the general who surrendered when we broke through the Outer Wall. Note the inscription and the superior craftsmanship.”

The dagger was heavy in Zuko’s hand. He unsheathed it slowly. The blade fit snugly against the leather sheath but drew easily with a smooth _shhhhhk_. The inscription was facing up, and Zuko read it aloud: “Never give up without a fight.”

Zuko paused for a moment, considering the phrase. It was familiar, somehow. He wondered why his uncle had given him this gift. Something nagged at the corner of his mind; Ursa had paused, too. Zuko looked over his shoulder at her and caught a faint glimmer of light in the corner of her eye. _Is Mother crying?!_ Her expression looked pained for a few moments, then she seemed to have collected herself enough to read on. Zuko’s heart was pounding with questions and worries.

“And for Azula, a new friend.” The second servant presented a fine pillow towards Azula. Zuko craned his neck to get a better look. A doll! Ursa read on, “She wears the latest fashion for Earth Kingdom girls.”

It was true; the doll wore a beautiful green and beige gown and her ears were adorned with golden earrings. She was lovely. Zuko watched Azula with poignant envy in his throat as she picked up her doll. He imagined picking her up, instead, and clutching her to his chest and introducing her to Kiyi and throwing a tea party and lighting more sage in Mother’s room. It was so unfair that he just had this stupid knife.

“If Uncle doesn’t make it back from the war,” Azula said, jolting Zuko out of his reverie, “then Dad will be next in line for Fire Lord, wouldn’t he?”

Before Zuko had time to process the swell of emotions that hearing those words had set into motion, Ursa had already begun to interject. “Azula, we don’t speak that way. It would be awful if Uncle Iroh didn’t return. And besides, Fire Lord Azulon is a picture of health.”

There was no doubt any longer: Zuko was angry. How could Azula say such an awful thing about Uncle? He glared at her and retorted, “How would you like it if cousin Lu Ten wanted Father to die?”

Azula shrugged. “I still think our dad would make a much better Fire Lord than His Royal Tea-Loving Kookiness.”

Zuko blinked, stunned into silence, and then the doll’s head was a small pillar of flame. A clutched gasp released involuntarily from the back of his throat and he reached out helplessly, far too late.

“Azula!” Ursa’s voice cut the stunned silence into halves, and the spell was broken. Zuko reacted viscerally to the rebuke and jumped as if it had been his own name forged into sharp steel, not Azula’s. He was further confused to find Ursa’s eyes resting on his own face, not Azula’s. Her eyes were deep and sad, and she looked quickly away.

Ursa sat up swiftly from her chair, but she had been a moment too slow. Azula dashed from the room, cruel laughter trailing in her wake. Ursa followed behind, but Zuko knew she’d never catch the fire ferret now. What remained of the Earth Kingdom doll – a few scraps of fabric and a crumbling wooden frame – smoldered in a small pile of ashes on the tile.

Alone in the chamber, Zuko couldn’t tear his gaze from the ashes. His heart ached and his eyes stung. Even when his vision clouded over with tears, the image seemed burned into his eyelids, only this time the doll had Kiyi’s face and her blackened eyes bore into his with silent condemnation.

“No… I’m sorry… Kiyi…” Zuko felt shattered, full of only edges.

“Zuko, my lovely boy.”

 _Mother!_ Zuko ran semi-blindly towards her voice and stumbled into Ursa’s arms. She enveloped him in her draping sleeves and held his head gently against her shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s alright, love,” she whispered. “Don’t cry, Zuko. I’m here.”

 _Thank you,_ Zuko thought. Then, the edges collapsed, and Zuko began to sob.

\---

Crisp, spring air ruffled through the verdant ginkgo leaves, whistling and rustling like terrestrial music. Zuko watched their reflection in the small pond – which he thought of privately as _his_ pond – and leaned into the crook of his mother’s shoulder. The pair were perched comfortably on the stone bench, laughing at the small birds in the turtle duck nest as they stumbled over each other to collect their mother’s food. The sky was reddening along the horizon and the temperature had begun to drop into evening.

Not for the first time, Zuko’s mind wandered back to the afternoon chamber, but he was pleased to find that the sharp sting had subsided to a more manageable ache. Zuko drew his Uncle’s gift from his pocket. The steel edging on the sheath shone brilliantly in the colorful lighting. Feeling Ursa’s curious gaze on him, Zuko drew the blade halfway to reveal the inscription: _never give up without a fight._ He frowned and pushed the knife back into the sheath.

“Mother?” he asked.

“Yes, dear?”

Zuko took a deep breath. “Why… did I get this?”

Ursa drew back gently and guided Zuko’s shoulders so that he faced towards her. She smiled and pinched his cheek playfully, and Zuko giggled and squirmed away.

“What do you mean, why?” Ursa asked carefully.

“Well,” Zuko said, “I like swords and all that, and I suppose Master Piandao _has_ praised me recently. Maybe Uncle heard about that, and that’s why he chose this gift. But… I like dolls, too.” Zuko frowned again. “Why does Azula keep getting dolls if she just wants to light them on fire? Does she seem like a better carer than me?”

Ursa clasped Zuko’s hand comfortingly. “Ah, Zuko,” she said, sighing. “I knew we would need to talk about this someday. I think it’s as good a time as ever to discuss it now.”

“Mm? Discuss what now, Mother?”

“Let me ask you a question first, dear.” Zuko nodded. “What do you think you and your sister have in common?”

“Um… you?” Zuko was very unsure what else he could say. Ursa laughed.

“Yes, that’s true,” she said. “You’re in the same family, the royal family of the Fire Nation. You’re both excellent firebenders.” Zuko’s heart swelled at this, as it always did when his mother complimented his firebending. “In many ways, you’re very alike.”

“But we’re totally different!” Zuko protested. “She’s so mean, and she always lies. And, her characters are prettier than mine. And she hates dolls.”

“She does. Maybe hating the kinds of gifts you both get is another kind of similarity between you both, don’t you think?”

“… Huh.”

“Now, why do you think she hates dolls so much?”

Zuko’s head was beginning to hurt. “Uh…” _Because she’s mean? Haha. No._ “Azula is very serious. She only likes firebending.” Ursa nodded, encouraging Zuko with another hand squeeze.

“She doesn’t have much space in her heart for the kind of play that we do with a doll,” Ursa explained. “And that’s perfectly alright. Azula is having a great time doing other things. It just takes people a long time to realize that about her.”

“Why? It’s so obvious.”

“Well, dear…” Ursa paused thoughtfully. “Because other people think she’ll be like the dolls they give her. Pretty and silent, someone that can be controlled by others.” Zuko stared at his mother, then broke out in sudden laughter.

“I’d like to see someone try to control Azula,” Zuko finally rasped. Ursa smiled.

“It’s what people expect from girls, that’s all. Azula simply isn’t your typical girl.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment. The sun had dipped beneath the palace walls, dappling the sky with brilliant purple hues.

“Does that mean… I’m not a typical boy?” Zuko felt his throat clench mysteriously.

“No, no, you’re perfectly normal, love!” Ursa drew him into her arms. “Let me explain it a different way. There are many, many ways to be a girl or a boy. There are so many, in fact, that a lot of people give up and only learn about one of them. They know about doll-girls and warrior-boys, and anybody else they meet is always a surprise to them. It takes a lot of bravery to look each person in their eyes and see who they truly are. Most people are perfectly happy to look only at the masks they hold up in front of them.”

“I… think I understand,” Zuko said slowly. “But then, is that what Uncle does?” This seemed wrong somehow, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Ursa said, laughing lightly. “Your uncle is one of the bravest men I know, in that sense. I think you’ll find that he knows you much better than you suspect. And Azula, too.”

Zuko twisted around to look at his mother’s face, his own a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Ursa smiled and motioned Zuko closer.

“Azula’s gift…” She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “I think it was a joke.”

_Huh?!_

“Azula is so serious and hardworking. Maybe your uncle thought it would be amusing to tease her. He does love his fun, that Iroh.”

An image of Iroh laughing with his full body in a smoky chamber, surrounded by friends who were also laughing, came into Zuko’s mind. He smirked. Well _that_ seemed true. Maybe, just maybe, Mother was right…

“So, what about my gift? Is it a joke, too?” Zuko felt strangely disappointed by that thought. He had found the message mysterious, but he had been flattered by it, too. _I hope Uncle isn’t playing with my feelings that way… It isn’t a very good joke…_

“I don’t think we can understand your gift in the same way, no,” Ursa said. Relief washed over Zuko.

“What do you think, then, Mother?” Zuko’s eyes were wide and eager.

“I think it’s a message… of inspiration, dear.” Ursa looked distantly across the garden, pensive. “I think he knows that you’re so much more than a simple warrior-boy, and that you’re always doing your best. I can’t say for sure, but I know that’s what _I_ would want you to think about whenever you saw that gift.”

The pair fell into thoughtful silence, watching the colors bleed one-by-one from the sky until only darkness and stars remained.


	6. Fractured

Zuko was having a good day for once. Good enough that he actually managed to stop panicking about his disastrous performance the day before, when Azula had upstaged him with her superior firebending in front of his father and their firebending teachers. He was certain that his marks would be abysmal.

His morning training with Master Piandao had taken an unexpected turn when, instead of criticizing Zuko further, his teacher pressed a beautiful pair of dual broadswords into his hands, turned around, and said, “In only this are you unrestrained, young master Zuko. Through wielding these twin blades, I hope that you will always maintain a balance between yin and yang, for you will need both energies to become who you are meant to be. You have done well.” Zuko held his bow for a long time after Master Piandao departed the training hall, tears of gratitude hidden below his lashes.

Once he regained his composure, Zuko headed straight to the kit of oils and polishing cloths that he kept in his room and set to cleaning his new swords with single-minded vigor. The quality of the blades put his practice swords to shame; although they were sturdy, well balanced, and certainly passable for a student of his age, there was simply no comparison. The new swords looked simple from afar but upon closer inspection, the care and mastery with which they had been forged were immediately apparent. In particular, Zuko was mesmerized by the lightly oscillating edge pattern that seemed to be, somehow, identically mirrored across both blades. He was just checking their sheen by shooting light beams across the room when a palace attendant arrived, carrying a tray of food and a sheepish expression – _Ah, right. Lunch._

He picked at his food, idly wondering who had thought to set it aside for him, when there was another knock on his door. It was much too soon for the attendant to collect his dishes. Slightly wary, Zuko called the visitor inside.

The following few minutes seemed to pass in a rapid blur even as they stretched into eternity.

A messenger from Fire Lord Azulon’s personal staff, identifiable by the golden embroidery on the lapels of his uniform, entered and read from a short scroll. Zuko heard flashes of information around the sudden ringing in his ears: News from Ba Sing Se. Regret to inform. Many casualties. Skirmish. Fire Nation victory. Lu Ten was killed. Formal mourning period. Royal family and palace staff. White drapes. Condolences.

The messenger retreated as brusquely as he had arrived. The air seemed to swirl in his wake, but Zuko was utterly still, food and broadswords completely forgotten.

Lu Ten was dead. The tall, handsome young man who had eaten at the highest place of honor before the siege began, was dead. Zuko’s cousin was dead. He had hardly known him, and now he never would.

Everything was suddenly dull, and there was a hole in the world that Zuko had never noticed before. It was inside him, spreading like sinking sand within his stomach, and it was also outside, far away at the fuzzy image of the giant wall that Zuko had imagined from Uncle Iroh’s letters.

A sharp jab pierced through the numbness. _Uncle hadn’t been mentioned in the message, had he?_ Zuko wracked his already scattered memory, hoping that he hadn’t missed anything important. The uninvited image of Uncle Iroh lying on the ground, covered in blood, made Zuko’s chest clench. It was a much stronger reaction than what he had felt about Lu Ten, and that set off a frenzy of warning bells in his mind. They were both family; shouldn’t his feelings be the same? Zuko felt the world around him start to spin, even as he was rooted in place. He had never lost anyone before. Zuko didn’t know exactly how he should feel, and that terrified him. He had come to hate every situation where he didn’t know what was expected of him. That was when he made mistakes, when he was scolded, when everyone looked down at him with disappointment heavy in their gazes. Zuko would do anything to escape those waking nightmares.

Zuko shook his head to try to clear it, focused back on the message, and made an important realization. He actually _had_ been told what he should do: he didn’t need to worry about the conflict in his feelings when he could wear mourning clothes _outside_ his body. Zuko stood abruptly and dashed to his wardrobe. _All I have to do is keep my head down and nobody will ever know if my feelings are wrong,_ he thought with relief, pulling out the white robes from beneath a deep pile of his usual black and red garments.

The clothes were a bit too small, but Zuko was still able to tie and belt them without much difficulty. They had appeared in his wardrobe a few years before, around the time when whispers that Fire Lord Azulon was ill had been circulating around the palace. It had been more than a little shocking to find them there, but Master Piandao’s speech later that day about the inherent nobility of preparation had helped to settle his worries. Now, the practicality of that preparation was painfully clear to Zuko. No one could have predicted that Lu Ten, of all people, would… so suddenly…

Zuko turned his attention back to the robes he was mindlessly tucking and fastening. He felt a swell of pride that he’d outgrown them, and stood a little taller in the mirror with a smirk on his face. The long white cloths that Zuko wrapped up his calves and forearms had to go a bit higher than usual in order to truly secure the hems of his clothes, but it wasn’t so noticeable as to break decorum. However, once he slipped his feet into the plain white boots, he scowled at his reflection. They were way too small! His toes curled angrily against the short seam, and the discomfort wiped away the pride he had felt earlier. _This sucks._

\---

Unsurprisingly, Zuko’s afternoon schedule of study and training was scrapped by the head tutor and replaced with a series of somber meetings and ceremonies. The royal family assembled before a small altar and a select number of high-ranking officials, all respectfully clad in mourning white. Even Fire Lord Azulon attended – it was the first time in years that Zuko had seen him up close, and his eyes couldn’t help but run in circles over his grandfather’s thin frame and sunken cheeks. Without the veil of fire surrounding his throne to cast shadows and flickering light, Fire Lord Azulon just looked _frail_.

He spoke about the Fire Nation’s grief and gave instructions about disseminating the news publicly. Zuko tried to keep his head down while he listened, but he sometimes snuck glances at his family, his curiosity too strong to be fully suppressed. Azula was the easiest to see, as she sat opposite him, so he looked at her first. Her face was totally blank, unreadable. _Unhelpful,_ Zuko thought. He tilted his head towards his father. Ozai was a little more emotive, but Zuko still couldn’t understand the subtle expressions passing over his face. He looked distracted, like he was deep in thought instead of reacting to Fire Lord Azulon’s speech. Finally, Zuko looked at his mother, and the obvious tears in her eyes momentarily stopped his breath. He ducked his head back down and frowned at his lap. He didn’t like seeing her like that, so sad and pale. She was much prettier when she wore red and smiled like the sun.

The knowledge that his mother was sad tumbled around in Zuko’s thoughts for the rest of the speech. He wondered how strong the ache in her chest was. He wondered if she had known Lu Ten better, and that’s why she was crying. He supposed that his older cousin might have spent his time with adults while he wasn’t spending it with Zuko, so it was possible that they had been close. He couldn’t remember Lu Ten’s age, but he always _seemed_ like such a grown-up. _When do you become an adult, anyways?_ Zuko wasn’t exactly sure, but he decided that this must be the right explanation, and he turned his attention back to Fire Lord Azulon just in time to hear his dismissal of most of the room.

Then, the inner family was left alone to grieve.

The low-grade dizziness that had plagued him the whole afternoon swelled as the doors clicked shut. Zuko followed along as his parents turned to kneel directly towards the altar. A thin wooden board was displayed in the center, the characters of Lu Ten’s name painted down the fine surface. White chrysanthemums were arranged in a semi-circle around the board, and a short candle was placed in the front. Ursa and Ozai reached forward in synchrony to light sticks of incense with the candle flame, settled the incense in the appropriate stand, and bowed low. Zuko and Azula glanced at each other, then bowed as well.

Zuko jumped when a funerary attendant he hadn’t noticed spoke from behind him. The man, one of the elite Fire Sages, recited a prayer for the prosperous reincarnation of Lu Ten’s soul, and several other voices repeated the words together after he finished. There were more bows, more chants, more incense. Zuko lost track of time, dizzy with the sickly smell of smoke. Finally, _finally,_ Fire Lord Azulon nodded, and Zuko was allowed to stand, to walk, to breathe the fresh air outside that stuffy room.

As quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself, Zuko slipped away and dashed out into the gardens, determined to sink into the earth for a few hours and rest his tired eyes.

\---

The sky was already purpling more than Zuko would have liked. The ceremony must really have taken as long as it had felt to sit through. _At least no one scolded me,_ Zuko thought, pleased that he hadn’t given away any of his confusion.

He was nestled between the tree that overlooked his turtle duck pond and the line of shrubs that almost encircled it. Despite the twinge of guilt he was doing his best to ignore, Zuko wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t. No, he was just… tired, and didn’t want to talk to anyone. And he hadn’t been explicitly told what he should be doing, after all. If no one found him, then those instructions would never come. _Ah, that sounds too close to hiding, damn…_

Zuko decided that he should meditate. It was practical in more ways than one, as it would offer him an easy excuse if he were discovered. However, it was quickly apparent that his racing thoughts were not at all ready to settle.

There was just too much to process. Zuko’s mind was flooded with flashes of images and phantom senses – his mother’s tears, the ache of his knees, “The light of our great nation shines dimly today, but we will persevere,” the sticky smell of incense. Zuko shrugged off the memories, feeling weirdly claustrophobic, and turned his thoughts outward.

_What is Uncle doing now?_

The thought had been a constant refrain throughout Zuko’s whole afternoon, and it pressed to the front of his mind easily. After seeing his mother’s grief, Zuko had an easier time imagining that Uncle Iroh was maybe very sad. He still couldn’t imagine that happy, carefree face with any expression other than laughter, though; every time he tried, the face in his mind transformed into Ursa’s.

And besides that, something felt… wrong, but Zuko hadn’t been able to figure out what or why. Zuko sighed and opened his eyes, feeling somewhat defeated. His eyes traced over the turtle duck family while he silently lamented how difficult it had become to just _think_. It hadn’t always been this hard! The world and the people in it had made a lot more sense just a year ago. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping enough. The turtle ducks slept all the time, and _they_ certainly didn’t seem to have any trouble thinking about anything.

He watched the mother turtle duck arrange her chicks in their nest and settle beside them. That her mannerisms were protective was clear to Zuko now, and had been ever since Ursa had taught him how to notice it. But this time, Zuko noticed something else, too: there was no father turtle duck. Actually, there never had been. _Huh,_ he thought. _Maybe being protective is something only mother turtle ducks do._

Zuko found himself remembering his mother’s explanation about doll-girls and soldier-boys from last spring. _Are turtle ducks like people? Do they also have strange rules and expectations for each other?_ He furrowed his brow. _Are people maybe like them, too?_ Zuko thought about his own parents, and his pulse quickened at the obvious similarities. His mother was the best mother ever. She was so gentle, she made him feel safe, she played with him. She was the only person who had ever spoken so kindly to him. But his father… he was never there. And when he was, he only glared and scolded and compared Zuko with his perfect sister. Zuko wondered if one of these turtle duck chicks had the favor of their father, if another was as envious of its sibling as Zuko was of Azula.

It was suddenly harder to imagine Uncle Iroh being too upset about Lu Ten’s death.

Zuko became aware of another thought, viciously sharp and poised to draw blood, hiding along the periphery of his mind; it filled him with cold terror, and he forced his attention away, onto anything, _anything,_ don’t look at it…

As if on cue, Zuko’s stomach let out a fierce growl. He remembered the cold food he’d abandoned that afternoon. It felt like a lifetime ago. Zuko sprang up, gleefully scattering his thoughts, and headed back inside.

Zuko suspected he was too late for dinner in the main hall. It was probably still ongoing, but he didn’t really want to draw any attention by entering late. He walked right past it and turned down a small corridor that he had discovered about a month before. Zuko let go of the breath he had unknowingly been holding as soon as he was out of sight. Before long, he had reached the end of the corridor and slipped into the kitchens. He shuffled his feet and smiled shyly at the chef who immediately caught him. She was much older than his parents, based on how her face crinkled as she raised an eyebrow and smirked back at him. The woman wiped her hands on her flour-dusted apron, shook her head with an amused sigh, and wordlessly set to filling a small cloth bag with bread and fruit. Zuko bowed low, raised a finger over his lips, and slipped back into the hallway, the soft sound of laughter cut off as the door closed behind him.

He held the bag to his chest as he walked across the palace. After Zuko crossed into the residential area, he paused. Several different voices argued in his mind, and although they made compelling points – _this isn’t a fire day, you don’t know if she’s free, how will you explain this food if you’re caught?_ – Zuko decided that he was willing to take the risks, so he turned on his heels and strode off in the direction of his mother’s chambers.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she opened the door, surprise rounding her features, and beckoned him inside with a soft smile.

“Zuko,” Ursa said, drawing him into a hug and pressing a kiss to his brow. “I wasn’t expecting you today, little firefly.” Her voice was neither accusatory nor displeased, Zuko was relieved to note.

“Hi, Mother,” he replied. “I, uh, missed dinner, and then, I just…” Zuko trailed off, realizing that he couldn’t actually put into words why he had decided to visit. He frowned.

“Don’t worry, love. Today, you don’t need to explain anything,” Ursa said swiftly, leading Zuko to the table and pushing him gently towards a cushion. “I’ll pour you some tea. As for food…?”

She raised an eyebrow and glanced meaningfully at the bag in his arms, turning it into a question. Zuko smirked and nodded.

“I can take care of myself now, Mother,” Zuko recited confidently. The line was pulled directly from the latest volume of his favorite adventure books, which he had devoured only a few nights earlier. It had sounded so cool and grown-up when the story’s young hero asserted it that Zuko had immediately branded the phrase into his memory.

Ursa’s expression was one of utter befuddlement for a brief moment, and it passed through amusement before it settled into something alight with mischief.

“Oho, I see you’ve turned into quite the resourceful little soldier-boy after all!” Ursa teased. “Before I can even catch my breath, you’ll have run off and joined a band of merry pirates to roam the world with.”

Zuko choked a quiet, shocked laugh below flushed cheeks. Ursa’s lip twitched, and she pitched her voice deeper into the same dramatic inflection as when she performed monologues for Zuko’s amusement.

“You’ll have no more time for your poor mother, oh no, you’ll be too busy having grand adventures, and growling at each other.”

“Moooom,” Zuko whined, too embarrassed by her taunt to play along like he usually would. “That’s silly. I don’t growl!”

“You’re growing up so fast these days, dear. Who knows? Maybe your growling days are right around the corner. Ah, what’s a poor mother to do? Her gentle little turtle duck was actually a snarling tiger monkey all along.”

Ursa pressed the back of her hand against her forehead, the picture of theatrical despair, but Zuko could see her poorly concealed smile behind her draping white sleeve. He had somewhat gathered his composure since the initial surprise faded, so, with great affectation, he crossed his arms, plopped onto a cushion, and pouted with a huff as Ursa settled across from him with two cups of tea. She flicked the tip of his nose playfully, and, suddenly taken with a wonderful, terrible idea – Zuko _growled_.

Shocked silence suspended between them, and then they both broke out in laughter. Zuko laughed so hard that he could barely gasp for air. Tears were swimming in his eyes, and his belly ached. Finally, finally, he caught his breath.

“Ah, Zuko, I’m glad you came to visit,” Ursa said between giggles as she wiped the corners of her eyes. “Such a precious child. Eat some of that food, love,” she added, and Zuko obediently pulled out some bread.

Once they calmed down, the two settled into the evening quietly. Zuko was also glad that he was visiting; he took a great amount of comfort from simply sitting in his mother’s presence. He didn’t really want to talk, not yet. That day, there was only one thing to talk about, and he was sure it would upset this peaceful atmosphere he was enjoying so much. Instead, he nibbled at an apple and sipped his tea, eyes tracing the needle weaving in and out of a short length of white cloth, ears following the meandering tune Ursa hummed while she sewed.

Eventually, Zuko’s curiosity won out. He broke his silence and asked, “What are you making, Mother?”

Ursa smiled, soft and sad. “It’s a gown for Kiyi,” she said.

 _Oh._ A twist knotted in Zuko’s chest. He didn’t say anything, but his confusion must have shown on his face. Ursa’s smile was stronger this time.

“Do you know who first brought Kiyi to us, my dear?”

Zuko met her gaze and he _knew_. “… Lu Ten.” The strange spinning feeling crept back like a riverbank at high tide. Zuko felt it rise slowly up his neck and over his ears.

Ursa nodded. “He always brought lovely gifts whenever he returned home.” Zuko knew that that hadn’t been very often. His cousin had been schooled and trained away from the palace most of the year; by the time his military service had officially begun, Lu Ten had long been a stranger at the Fire Nation capital.

 _But Mother knew him,_ Zuko thought, remembering her tearful face earlier that afternoon – a lifetime ago, it seemed. He wanted to comfort her, like she was always comforting him, but he had no idea how to start.

“Do you miss him?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he immediately worried that he was pressing too far, probing too deep. Ursa stilled for a moment, but warmth quickly covered her face.

“I do,” she said, reaching across the table to take Zuko’s hand. “We all do, your Uncle most of all.”

“Really?” Zuko’s fledgling theories about Uncle Iroh’s indifference filled his mind, and that hidden razor of a thought slipped back with them. His neck tingled with anxiety at its presence.

“Of course, love,” Ursa said. “Uncle Iroh loved his son very much. No parent is ever truly prepared to say goodbye to their children.”

 _Ah…_ Zuko couldn’t avoid that thought any longer; it sliced his heart open, leaving only raw, searing pain in its wake. Zuko’s eyes filled with tears that he couldn’t blink away fast enough. Ursa squeezed his hand, but her expression was too watery too read.

“Zuko…”

 _Is this something you should admit?_ He was too shattered to care. “I don’t think Father would be sad if I… if he said goodbye to me, though.”

Zuko heard his mother suck in a quick breath. He drew his hand back and curled up on his cushion, wiping roughly at his eyes to clear them. He felt like all the wind had been pressed out of him, leaving him empty and nauseous. Within moments, Ursa settled at his side and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“ _I_ would be sad, my dearest Zuko,” she whispered into his hair. “I would be so sad, because I love you. You’re the brightest light in my life, and I hate how much today made me imagine losing you. I would do anything to protect you. _Anything._ Whenever I think about how I would feel if I failed…” Ursa’s voice wavered, heavy with emotion, and she took a long breath. “That’s why I know how your Uncle feels right now, darling.”

Zuko felt his lip tremble, felt the tears keep spilling out, felt the sadness hollowing out his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and clutched at her robes, trying to anchor himself _here, now_.

There was a war being waged in his heart. The love of his mother was a balm for his hurts, as it always was, but he couldn’t help but notice that she never spoke directly about his father, and the disappointment of that implication was sticky and dark. Maybe it should be enough, to have her love. If that’s the case, then Zuko was selfish, because he wanted more. If only he could be more like Azula, then maybe his father would love him, too, would be able to miss him like Uncle Iroh missed Lu Ten.

Unbeknownst to Zuko, a seed of guilt and blame had implanted in the gaping wound in his heart.

Ursa roused him from his spiraling thoughts by drawing back from their embrace. She lifted his reluctant chin, dabbed his eyes with her sleeve, and kissed him on his forehead.

“It’s late, love,” Ursa said. “It’s very tiring to feel so much, you should rest. Remember to always take care of your body so it can take care of your heart.”

Zuko nodded automatically and blurted out, “Can I stay here tonight, Mother?”

Another warm kiss on his forehead. “Of course you can.”

Zuko was drawn over to his mother’s wardrobe, and several soft things were pressed into his hands. Ursa withdrew beyond a privacy screen to undress, leaving Zuko by the bed with his arms full. He blinked through the fog that had settled in his mind and focused. He was holding Kiyi – _Kiyi!_ – and something made of pale red fabric. Zuko hugged them to his chest, rested Kiyi on the bed, and examined the cloth more closely.

It was a robe for sleeping, long and loose, with soft fastenings at the sides. When Zuko held it up, he was surprised that the hem fell at an appropriate length for him, and the sleeves didn’t look too long, either. He grabbed the hem and turned it up. Sure enough, there were very fine stitches holding up a folded length of the fabric about the width of two hands. The garment, altered in such a way, would never have fit Ursa, but it was undeniably hers.

Inexplicably eager, Zuko unbound and shrugged out of his white robes as quickly as he could, and slipped into Ursa’s night robe. The smooth fabric raised goosebumps up the lengths of his arms as he slid them through the sleeves. It was so soft. Zuko untied his hair from its high tail and let it drop around his face and neck. The swishing sound of his hair brushing against the robe curled pleasantly around his ears as he crawled over Kiyi and tucked himself into the sheets.

Zuko’s heavy-lidded eyes fluttered closed. He listened to the distant sounds of shuffling and extinguishing candles. He felt like he was sinking into a fluffy cloud. Zuko was barely aware of his mother nestling in beside him, and he was asleep before she whispered goodnight.


End file.
